


It's Impossible

by rapid8rafter



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, F/M, Gen, Slight OOCness, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:56:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 116,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapid8rafter/pseuds/rapid8rafter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Zuko had been born with the chance to be the Avatar? What if he made a choice? It's impossible, really... but everyone has to breathe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Starts with a childish tone and style that matches Zuko's age and grows with respect to him.  
> Reviews and concrit always appreciated.

Zuko quietly ran his fingers back and forth over the cool surface of the pond, the still water disturbed by small ripples. Petals from the cherry blossom tree hanging over him floated down, some landing in the pool to be carried away by the tiny waves.

_Life must not be very fun,_ he thought. He was proud to tell anyone who asked that he was exactly four and three-quarters years old – as long as his father wasn't there to yell at him for bragging. He knew that being this age, he understood much more than anyone gave him credit for, and he knew that being denied a puppy was a cruel and fundamentally wrong thing to do. For some reason, the adults didn't seem to think the same way. Drawing his short legs up to his chest, Zuko folded his arms on his knees and laid his chin on his forearms.

He took one deep breath and let it out very slowly, telling himself that one day, he would be Fire Lord, and then _everyone_ would listen to him. He would be important, and old, and tall, and no one would tell him he couldn't have a puppy then.

_What?_ Zuko's sharp golden eyes caught ripples spreading out once again over the surface of the pond. He looked all around for the source, feeling for some slight breeze and waiting for more petals to drift down, but he saw nothing. After several long seconds, he settled down again with a shrug.

_Life can't be fun,_ he reasoned, _because life is so unfair._ He knew that Azula, when she was finally able to talk, would get anything she managed to ask for. Mother and Father adored Azula. Even now, they were probably hanging around her cradle, ooh-ing and aah-ing at her cuteness. Zuko didn't understand how everyone thought she was so adorable – once, when she was even smaller, Zuko had asked to hold her. She was normally a silent and attentive baby, but as soon as she had been passed into his hands she had burst into tears. Zuko had quickly handed her back to Mother, but he had time to think that she was nothing more than a tiny, pudgy, pink thing.

Zuko never held her after that. Mother tried, but Zuko wouldn't hold someone who didn't want to be held by him. Azula could stay with the ooh-ers and aah-ers if that was what she really wanted, and Zuko wouldn't care.

He would care, though, if she was allowed to have a puppy. That thought made him exhale angrily, and to his shock, he saw ripples spread out from his feet.

For a moment he didn't know what to think, and then he felt warm pride spread through him. He knew Father would be impressed with his powerful breath. He could make ripples on the water from feet away! And Mother and Uncle were always telling him that he had to be able to breathe to learn firebending, and they would see that he could, and maybe he could finally learn!

The next moment, Zuko imagined himself gloriously showing his parents his amazing breath skills. Mother might faint out of sheer awe. Father would smile, and pat him on the back, and proudly say that he was a master of breathing. Uncle might laugh thunderously, his big belly shaking, and ruffle his hair. It would be a perfect moment, he decided.

When Zuko looked up, he discovered that the leaves were swirling around him. He laughed, in the high octaves of childhood, and stood so he could spin with the petals. He was even more amazing then he had thought! If his laugh could cause the tree to let go of his petals, his breathing must be truly tremendous! He was probably the best breather in the whole of the Fire Nation! He giggled again.

This time, a pebble at his feet shifted. That was what sealed it. Zuko ran off to find his mother.

As he had predicted, she was by Azula's cradle, saying nonsense words to the lump swaddled inside. He looked around, but Father wasn't there. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Mother!"

"Yes, Zuko?" She didn't turn from Azula.

"Come quick, there's something I want to show you!"

This time, she did face him with a smile. "Well, what is it, sweetie?"

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "It's a _surprise,_ Mother. Please come!"

She hesitated, and looked back to the cradle. "But Zuko, darling, I can't just leave Azula here. She might start crying, or get cold, or… what if she was taken!" Worried already, she turned back as if to check that her infant was still in place.

Zuko was getting desperate. He _had_ to show off his breathing. "Bring her too, Mother, as long as she promises to stay quiet."

He regretted his words instantly, but he told himself that now Mother would come see him. He bounced impatiently from foot to foot as she smiled sweetly at him, and then the tiny baby.

"Well, Princess Azula? Do you promise to stay quiet?"

Zuko didn't see the baby nod, and Zuko knew she couldn't have spoken yet, but Mother stooped and picked her up anyway. The girl hadn't promised, but if Mother was coming he guessed it would do.

Zuko rushed back to the courtyard, and then stood waiting for Mother to catch up to him. Waiting was a horrible thing to do, but he supposed Mother couldn't be seen running through the palace.

Finally she arrived, after what had seemed like hours. "So, what is it you so desperately needed to show me, darling?"

He grinned and turned to the pool. "Watch my breathing, Mother!" He wanted to look very old and wise, like a Master, so he took a wide stance with his elbows pinned to his sides and his hands facing out. He took a really, really deep breath, and let it out quickly, punching out his arms as he did so. To his surprise and delight, this time a whole wave left the shore of the pond and migrated across it, crashing onto the dirt on the other side.

He turned to Mother, beaming, to see that she had gone very pale and was staring at him with wide eyes. He laughed – he had been right. Mother would faint. But he wasn't done yet.

Still laughing, he threw his arms out to his sides and started to spin, watching happily as petals started spiraling down around him. Eventually, quite dizzy, he stopped to see if Mother had fainted yet. She hadn't, but she was even paler than before and had one dainty hand clapped over her mouth. Now, he told himself, for the finale.

He took his wide stance again, just to make his breathing look fancy, and let his hands hover over a pebble in front of him. He took a huge breath, and let it out, shifting his hands over like he had seen the rock do. The rock obediently hopped under his hands, and Zuko was impressed with his acting. If he didn't know better, which he did, he might have mistaken his amazing breathing for bending. But that was impossible, after all.

"Well, Mother?" he panted, now quite out of breath from his huge breathing. "What do you think? Isn't my breathing awesome? Do you think you can teach me firebending now?"

She was silent, and stared at him for so long that Zuko started to get worried. She didn't look very proud. She did look awed, but it was almost… frightened.

"Mother?"

Very slowly, she pulled her hand away from her mouth. " _Fire_ bending?" was the one word she croaked. Zuko didn't understand.

"Of course, Mother. I want to learn, but you and Uncle keep saying that I have to master my breathing. If I can do all that stuff just by breathing, I think I mastered it. So I want to learn."

He ended with as much strength as he could, hoping that she wouldn't be able to argue with him. She just continued to look at him, her eyes going from wide to narrow.

"Why don't you show me some more breathing?" she asked, almost… darkly. "Make _fire_ do something this time."

Zuko was puzzled, but he was the world's best breather; he could do anything that breathing required. He looked for one of the lamps hanging in the hallway day and night, and concentrated on the flame flickering inside. He would have to suck in really, really hard to get it to come to him from all the way over there. He stared at it, and took the biggest breath in that he had ever taken, leaning backwards and pulling with his hands as he did so. To his shock, the fire came and hovered over one of his open palms.

_This,_ he thought, _is more than breathing – I'm bending!_

"Well, there, Mother." He threw the little glob of fire back to its lamp, where it obediently followed.

Ursa watched the little globe fly peacefully through the air and turned back to Zuko. "Did you just tell it to go back there? And it did? You wanted it to go back to the lamp?"

Zuko was still confused why she wasn't proud and happy. "Yes. What's so wrong about that?"

"Nothing's wrong." she said, sounding confused herself. "But that control…" she trailed off and shook her head as if trying to displace an unpleasant thought. "Zuko," she leaned down to eye level. "I'm afraid that you can't breathe like that anymore."

"What do you mean?" he asked. This breathing was amazing. He loved doing it. He didn't want to stop breathing like this, ever. And now Mother said he had to?

"Your breathing is dangerous, sweetie." She adjusted Azula in her arms, but didn't look down to her. That made Zuko feel triumphant. He was finally more important than that stupid girl. But what she said was troubling – he didn't want Mother to be afraid of him.

"I don't understand," Zuko said, carefully slowly. "What could be wrong about _breathing_?"

"Your Father doesn't like people who breathe like that."

Zuko's blood ran cold, his fantasy vanishing in an instant and a hard lump of fear forming in its place. "Oh," was all he said. People that Father didn't like… didn't exist. Not for long, anyway. He looked up to Mother with pleading eyes.

"Don't tell him, Mother! Please don't tell Father! I don't want to… disappear…."

Ursa leaned down and planted a hesitant kiss on his forehead. "Okay, darling. It will be our little secret, right?"

Zuko nodded fervently. Suddenly, he didn't want to breathe like that ever again. "Mother, can we pretend that I don't know how to firebend?"

She stood and looked down on him. "Not for long, Zuko. Breathing like you did with the fire… that kind is okay. But the other types, you can't ever do. Seal them away, Zuko, and never let them out."

"Okay, Mother." He closed his eyes, concentrating very hard, and searched inside of him for how he knew the breathing that he did. It was hard work – he didn't know where breathing came from. Finally, he found something inside of him. He didn't know how to describe it, but it was like a warm ball of light, that felt almost like another person inside him. He reached out to it.

_Are you what controls my breathing?_ he asked it hesitantly. He didn't expect a response – it was _his_ body, after all. So he was very surprised when he got one.

_We control your special kind of breathing, little one._

Zuko was concentrating too hard to open his eyes and look at Mother, otherwise he might have.

_We?_ he asked.

_We are all part of you. If you want, we can call ourselves, you._

Zuko thought that would be awfully confusing. No, we is fine. But could whoever…you…are, please go away? I can't have you...we... inside of me.

No? the being asked, sounding surprised.

_No,_ Zuko said firmly. _It's impossible, and you need to leave._ He congratulated himself for sounding very adult and Father-like.

_And where would you suggest we go, little dragon?_

Zuko stopped. Umm… He thought for a long moment. Well, if you control breathing, you should go find that airbender that Father keeps talking about. Breathing needs air, right?

The entity laughed, if that was possible inside of Zuko. He was feeling quite puzzled by all this _we, you_ stuff. _We have been following that airbender since he was born, as we have you. Both of you would have made fine candidates. But you say it's impossible for you?_

The we sounded almost amused. Zuko found himself wondering what a candidate was.

_If you mean you being here, then yes. It is impossible._

_Are you sure? You know, with us here, you will be more powerful than anyone. Even this Father of yours._

That was a very tempting offer, and Zuko almost accepted instantly. But he reminded himself that his Mother was afraid of this breathing ball, and whatever Mother didn't like should go away and leave her alone. _I am sure._

_Well then, little one, I suppose that airbender is going to be lucky. But don't think you can get off so easily, child. We will find you again._

With those words, the ball of light seemed to almost fizzle out. Zuko finally opened his eyes to see tears leaking from them.

"What is it?" Ursa asked him.

"It's lonely without them…." Zuko whimpered. Ursa furrowed her brow.

"Who?"

Zuko shook his head, which was hurting from speaking to the ball. It was a very confusing ball. He didn't want to try and explain it.

"But the breathing is gone, right honey?"

Zuko wondered why she sounded so desperate, but he nodded.

Ursa let out a sigh of relief. "Good. Good. Now, tell me if anything like this happens ever again, okay? And remember, this is our little secret. Nobody knows about it but us two, right?"

Zuko nodded again, and Ursa started to walk away. Zuko, watching her retreating form, noticed baby Azula look back at him, a small smile on her face. Zuko shivered, though he wasn't cold. Unfortunately, he couldn't say the same for his sister's smile.


	2. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: So, some explanation on how our favorite prince became the Avatar.

_Aang, when is this going to end?_

The spirits were getting restless. Their new reincarnation had seemed especially promising - he was creative, kind, and full of life. He was certainly the exemplar Avatar. But they had been with him for almost a hundred years now, and he had not woken. The spirits, though hesitant to leave, were beginning to think they had no other choice. Each year they waited, the world tipped farther and farther out of balance.

The truth, they knew, was that the world needed the Avatar. But they couldn't exist without a body.

And without them, the airbender wouldn't be much better off.

This was the main reason that the spirits were swirling around in the pool of chakra, their thoughts resonating to each other - or rather, arguments.

 _We need to accept that he is not going to wake up._  Roku said to the others.  _We cannot sacrifice the fate of the world for one little boy. We should leave, and choose another child._

 _No!_  Yangchen snarled.  _You will_ not  _leave one of mine in a block of ice to freeze to death!_

 _One of yours?_  Roku shot back.  _He is one of us, Yangchen, not one of yours. He is the Avatar, not just an airbender, and he is responsible for the well-being of the world! He would have made the choice himself if presented with it, you know he would have._

Yangchen smiled the dark smile of one who has set an inescapable trap.  _He was in the Avatar State when he was sealed into this iceberg, Roku. What do you think would happen if we left and let him die?_

Roku paused. His hesitation was all the answer she needed. Her smugness could be felt throughout the ball of energy.

 _But, if we can find another body to inhabit before he dies..._  Roku said, but it sounded feeble even to him.

 _Yangchen._  Avatar Kuruk spoke up firmly.  _We cannot simply allow whatever happens to happen. It is what causes us to lose things very dear to us._

Yangchen turned to him.  _Kuruk, the loss of your betrothed was tragic, but you must move on. Koh will not relinquish her face, and it is pointless to-_

 _That as may be,_  he interrupted,  _my irresponsibility allowed her to be taken in the first place. I know that action must be taken - to sit by is not only to do nothing, but to do something horribly wrong._

Yangchen was silent.

 _You are all thinking of this the wrong way,_ a new voice spoke up.  _Remember - many eons ago, there was no Avatar at all. You keep assuming that there are only two options: to stay with Aang, or to leave and find another body._

The other Avatars were puzzled in the wake of her silence. Finally Roku spoke up.  _And I suppose you have another option, Kyoshi?_

_Why not both?_

This was followed by heavy silence. It stretched for so long, that Kyoshi eventually continued.

_Say that one of us from each nation went to search their women for one bearing a child, and that spirit alone inhabited the infant. That way, Aang would not die - and in the process kill us all - but neither would he be the only Avatar._

_There has_ never _been more than one Avatar._  Roku said, sounding confused. Kyoshi snarled.

 _But there has been a time_ without  _an Avatar. If there can be none, or one, why not more? There is a first for everything._

It took time for the spirits to deliberate on this new prospect, though how much passed to the spirits was relative. Finally, Yangchen addressed the others.  _I suppose that we should try,_ she said wearily. Kuruk and Roku nodded, and Kyoshi smiled.

 _I will stay here with Aang,_ Yangchen said.  _But I think it would be best if you only left one at a time, to keep the reincarnation cycle in order. Two Avatars at once, might work. But I am hesitant to attempt_ _four. Kuruk, the Water Tribes are next in line. I say we give you the first chance._

Kuruk seemed excited by the prospect of being the first.  _Yes, the Southern Tribe is where I will go first. Perhaps I will find one of Ummi's descendants..._  he voice trailed away as he left Aang's body. The others convulsed as he disappeared, feeling - for the first time - a break in the chain.

* * *

Kuruk went among the people of his dead betrothed for many months until he found a suitable option. The mother was strong, well respected by the tribe, and the birth of her child was highly anticipated by all in the community. Kuruk slipped into the spirit of the unborn infant and hovered there, until at long last the child was born.

Kuruk knew at once that it was a girl, and there was something wrong with her. She was weak, he could tell. But the living tribe didn't seem to notice, even the young mother. The girl was instantly wrapped to protect her tender new skin from the biting cold, and the mother carried her inside to the relative warmth of the fire-heated tent. The tribe left gifts outside her door and let her sleep, taking their party to the other side of the village.

To Kuruk's surprise, the girl survived the winter. Her name was Nini, and when she could walk on her own she spent nearly every minute with Kya, another girl of the tribe. Kuruk made himself wait for the child to show any sign of readiness, holding back his urge to give her some hint of her abilities. The Southern Water Tribe, in their relative poverty, had stopped testing their children, so for now Nini's status remained unknown by her people.

Eventually, when the child was hardly over three, Kuruk could hold himself back no longer. Nini had been more active lately, Kya coaxing long conversations and adventures out of the withdrawn girl. So, on one particular outing, Nini's bending make its first appearance - and Kuruk had hardly anything to do with it.

"Nini, come on! I want to go ice hopping!"

Nini looked up from the bone carving she had in her lap to see Kya's panting, grinning face leaning over her. Nini calmly set it aside and offered the older girl her hand, allowing herself to be dragged to her feet and pulled away.

"Kya," she said eventually, "I think we're still too little to go ice hopping."

"We're not little!" Kya cried as though insulted. "Nini, ice hopping is fun. Or that's what everyone sais, anyway. And we're big girls now, we can do it."

Nini didn't reply. Finally, the two girls made it a considerable distance from the village and leaned over the edge of the ice sheet, staring at the floating pancake ice on the surface of the dark water. Nini stared at it with apprehension, Kya an excited hunger. She turned to Nini.

"Are you ready?"

Nini shook her head quickly, shoulder-length black hair shifting over her face. Kya sighed.

"Well, if you want you can stay here on shore and watch me. That doesn't sound very fun, though."

Nini looked up. "That sounds like plenty of fun, Kya. You go on, I'll watch."

Kya smiled. Then she pulled on a very determined look, stared at the chunk of ice closest to her, and got ready to pounce. Like a cat, she squatted down, licked her lips, and leaped. She reached the ice, her feet hitting it with a thud, and the next moment the ice flipped over her and she was plunged into the water.

"KYA!" Nini shrieked. Her friend didn't resurface. Nini ran to the edge of the water and leaned over the edge, but it was too dark to see anything. Nini stuck her face and her hands in the water, blinking away the instant headache, and looked around. Kya was there, her struggles already starting to diminish as the cold set in. Nini reached for her, but she was too far away. She clenched her hands in frustration, and just like that, a sudden current dragged Kya into her arms. Nini heaved her out of the water and onto the ice, dragging the heavier child away from the edge.

"Kya!" she cried again. "Are you okay?"

Kya coughed and tried to speak, but her teeth were chattering too much. Nini pulled her into a tight hug, and didn't let her go, hoping that she would be warm enough to help her friend.

"Nini..." Kya croaked after a few minutes. "Nini, you're skin feels like it's on fire."

Nini hugged her tighter. "Is it warming you up?"

Kya pulled away, patting her fur parka. "I'm all dry," she said with wonder. "Nini, how did you do that?"

"I don't know." Nini looked at her hands. "I don't know."

Kya grinned, memories of her near-death experience fading in the wake of this new discovery. "Can you do it again?" she asked.

Nini, seeing the effect this was having on her friend, nodded. "I'll try." She focused very hard on her hands, holding her breath to see if it would work. Kuruk shifted a little.

 _Breathe,_  he suggested.

Nini, thinking only that her mind had gotten hungry for air, took a deep breath, and focused again. Kya pulled off her mitten and touched one of her outstretched hands, yanking her fingers away immediately.

"Ow!" she exclaimed, drawing back. A second later she was back though, grinning like wild. "Nini, you're hands really do feel like fire!"

 _Be a candle,_  Kuruk ordered.  _Make a flame._

Nini looked up at Kya. "Like fire?" Then she looked back at her small hands, took another deep breath, and willed the fire to leave her skin and hover above it. "Kya, look!" Nini cried, without looking away from the flame hovering in her cupped hand. There was no reply. "Kya?"

When she looked up, Kya had backed away several steps and was looking at her with wide eyes.

"Kya? What's-" but the older girl had turned and all Nini saw was her retreating form.

The next few weeks, before winter set in, Nini and Kya saw hardly any of each other. There were several times when Nini would walk up to Kya with a smile, and her friend would see her and run the other way.

Finally, Nini couldn't stand it any longer. It was dark, though in the dead of winter it was almost impossible to say if it was night or day. She looked at her mother, soundly sleeping a few feet away, and silently got to her feet. She slipped out of the tent, shivering at the cruelly cold wind that whipped through her parka, and started stumbling in the direction of Kya's tent. Suddenly, snow was dumping all around her, and Nini had trouble seeing. She squinted where she thought she had seen a flash of blue.

"Hello?" she called out, and the something in the darkness turned. It was Kya, she realized suddenly. But just as Nini was about to say something, she turned away and started walking into the wind.

"Kya? Where are you going?" But Nini's small voice was immediately whipped away by the cruel storm.

 _Oh, no._ Kuruk knew what Nini did not – that what she saw in the storm was not her friend. He would know that particular spirit anywhere.  _No, Nini. Go back home. Go home NOW._

Nini paused, but shook her head. She would not let fear get the better of her when her friendship was at stake. She started walking again.

Eventually, Nini's voice left her after hours of shouting into the wind. She made her skin as hot as a blazing fire, but in time she was too tired to keep it up. Eventually, Kuruk knew he had no choice. He activated the Avatar State, pulling himself out of the tiny child's body. He built a hut around her to keep away the wind, but there was nothing else to do. He couldn't tell the way back to the village. He wouldn't be able to see anything from the sky. Kuruk set a fire in the middle of the igloo, and tried to keep it going. But finally, Nini fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, and Kuruk couldn't stay outside of her body while she was unconscious.

Nini never walked back into the village, except as a lonely, blue spirit. She returned to her home to find her family missing. Nini, knowing nothing else to do, sat in her old hut and cried. Kuruk, now beside her, and not inside, lit a fire. Kya came in, with some others, but she was the only one who seemed to see her old friend.

 _It's so cold, and I can't get warm,_ Nini whimpered. Kya staggered back a step. Kuruk walked up to her.

 _You, child._ He stared down at her with sadness and anger.  _You never should have turned your back on Nini. She died looking for you, to beg your forgiveness for something she could not control. What you saw that day was not a horror, but a blessing. You should have helped her. You should have protected a bender of your tribe._

Kya ran out of the tent in tears. Kuruk felt a twinge of guilt, but did not regret what he said. He turned to Nini.

_I'm leaving now, child. I hope that one day you find the strength to leave in peace as well._

The girl didn't seem to hear. She just sat and cried staring at the half-finished bone carving abandoned on the rug.

Kuruk sighed, returning to Aang's body and the other spirits. He didn't have to tell his tale, because they already knew all. The spirits waited some time in mourning for their newest life, and eventually, Kyoshi took her leave for the Earth Kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Well, please tell me what you think! I know this one was short, but it was fast, so... happy medium. The next one should also be pretty short. I hope all of you that asked me to continue are still reading, so you can tell me if this is what you were hoping for!
> 
> And yes, Nini was the girl Katara told the scary story about in "The Puppetmaster," for those of you wondering.
> 
> Review! I order you! :D


	3. Earth

Kyoshi was not as patient as Kuruk, but neither did she have to be. The first place she searched was her home island, and she was pleased to discover not only the memorials they had erected, but that there was a strong, beautiful bender expecting - and in only a few days. Kyoshi quickly decided that this was her best option. After all, a few days wait with the child would be far more bearable than a few weeks - or months - with another.

When the infant was born, Kyoshi was reminded once again why she hated children. They didn't have an ounce of sense, and all they knew how to do was scream and wail. Kyoshi especially disliked this girl - she was thin-boned, thin-haired and generally fragile looking. The mother named her Lin, for her astoundingly green eyes. Kyoshi called her Bèn.

Lin was never away from her mother. Kyoshi despised this attachment, especially because the baby wouldn't even let the father hold her. The only one she allowed without crying was her mother, and her mother bent to this wish constantly.

So the first time that Lin was left with her father for the day, Kyoshi was utterly relieved - until the two-year-old sat down and cried.

 _Oh, come now, Bèn._ she said exasperatedly.  _It's not the end of the world._

The baby sniffled, decided that her mind was mean to her, and went back to crying. She did nothing else for the remainder of the day. Eventually, the father came over and looked down over her. He didn't try to pick her up.

"Lin, you're so tiresome. Why do you have to be so weak?"

Kyoshi inwardly agreed, but was unsettled that Lin's own father would tell his child that. Lin looked up, wiping her wet eyes with tiny fingers.

"Daddy," she said, "you're mean. I don't like you. I like Mommy more."

The father glared down. "Yes, I know." Then her turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Lin alone in the small hut. Lin stared at the wooden floor for a few seconds, then started crying again.

Finally, her mother came back and picked her up, asking what was wrong. Lin said that she just missed her, and that Daddy was mean and had left her alone. Lin was glad that when her father came home, mother yelled at him.

When Lin was old enough to walk instead of being carried, she followed her mother everywhere. People jokingly started calling her Yīnyǐng, to which she would turn up her small nose and keep walking.

One day, she was obediently trailing her mother when another earthbender Mother knew ran up. He didn't seem to notice Lin, and instead spoke quickly to the adult.

"Xui, its the Unagi. We need you down at the beach, fast." Then he ran off again. Xui turned around and lifted her small daughter into her arms.

"Lin, baby, you need to run home. Daddy should be there. Okay? Hurry." Her voice had a sharp edge.

Lin nodded furiously, eager to please her mom. Xui set her down and gave her a gentle push in the direction of the small hut, and Lin took off on her stubby young legs. When she turned around, her mom was already sprinting the other way. Lin hesitated, then kept running.

Her father was in the hut when she reached it. He took one look at the panting child, snorted, and walked out, muttering "Weak..." under his breath. Lin drew up short, her heart constricting and tears threatening fall down her chubby cheeks.

 _Don't cry, Lin._  Kyoshi pleaded.  _Come on. Wouldn't that just be telling him he's right?_

Lin straightened her head at that thought.  _Mommy's down the beach,_ she thought.  _If I can get there soon, she'll see how fast I can run, and she'll tell Daddy that I'm_ not  _weak. Then he'll stop being mean to me and love me._

When Lin walked out, she heard lots of noise down at the beach. She smiled - mother must be having a party. She wouldn't mind if Lin stayed with her. She started running with excitement, ready to prove herself.

However, when she rounded the trees and saw the scene before her, Lin skidded to a stop in horror. Mother was on the beach, surrounded by others, all of them trying to contain the Unagi. Simultaneously, they pushed out peninsulas of earth and ran along them, lengthening as they went. When they were a substantial distance from the shore - and increasingly close to the thrashing sea monster - they stopped and pulled up a sphere of earth from the bay floor to surround it.

"Hold it!" Lin heard her mother yell to the others. "If it gets out, we're sitting ducks here!" There were shouted replies from the other Earthbenders. Lin couldn't stand it any longer.

"Mommy!" She shreiked.

Xui turned, and for one moment Lin swore she could see her face as if it was only feet from her, her hazel eyes wide in shock in and her painted face slack with panic. One long moment, and then the Unagi took the opportunity provided by the distraction and broke free of its earthen prison.

The beast turned its huge head to the high-pitched screaming from the shore. Lin realized that the sound was coming from her, and fell silent. But it was too late - the Unagi submerged, except for its enormous spikes, which Lin could see heading toward her. She wanted to scream again, but her voice was gone. She stood, locked in place by sheer terror.

 _Ha!_  Kyoshi laughed.  _I've dealt with the Unagi before. Let it come._

Lin stood a little straighter, her frozen muscles relaxing, then took up a stance that came naturally. She waited for the Unagi, whose pointed snout emerged from the water only meters from her. The little four-year-old felt a smirk beyond her years sneak onto her face.

 _That's right._ Kyoshi thought as the Unagi descended.  _Let's show this town who you are, my Bèn._

" _NO!"_

Lin felt something knock into her as she heard the shout, and she was thrown to the side. She heard the sickening crunch of bone, and a blood-freezing scream. Lin practically flew to her feet, her heart sinking, hoping against hope that what she was thinking was wrong. When she looked, a shriek rose from her unbidden. It was wordless, pitch-less, but utterly and sickeningly raw.

She ran to her mother's broken body, falling on it. "Mother?" she sobbed. "Mother!" There was no reply. As Lin looked at her hands, coated in dark blood, she felt herself shaking with rage.

"GET AWAY!" she screeched to the monster that had killed her mother. "GET AWAY FROM HER!"

Kyoshi took over then. What happened next was a blur, a flurry of bending that beat back the Unagi to the ocean where it belonged. Lin finally realized she was on her knees on the beach, a silent crowd gathered around her - but keeping their distance. She looked around the circle of faces, and saw only wide and fearful eyes.

"What happened...?" she croaked. Her only response was silence. "What happened?" she repeated, louder this time.

"You subdued it."

Lin knew that chill voice. She turned towards it. "Daddy?" she searched the crowd, but didn't see him.

"You sent it back to the ocean." Finally, the thin man stepped out, carefully picking his way across the ruined beach. Lin, crying tears she had held back, reached out her small arms towards him, begging to be comforted. He walked up to her, kneeled next to her. As she went to hug him, his hard voice continued, lowered so that only she could hear.

"You didn't kill it, even though it killed Xui. Why would you let it kill her?"

 _What?_ Lin knew her thoughts were jumbled. She couldn't be hearing this. But he continued.

"She was so much more than you. You should have killed it. Better yet, you should have let it kill you, and not her.  _Why are you so weak?"_

"Weak?" Lin asked, the hated word tasting as bad as the blood in her mouth. " _Weak?"_

"Yes!" he spat at her. "You're weak, and useless, and I hate you."

"I hate you!" she yelled. "How can you call me weak, after what I've done? Why are you so cruel?"

"Because you're not my child," he almost whispered.

"What?" Lin whispered back. "You're my Daddy, of course I'm your child."

"No," he said. "You can't be. It's impossible. No child of mine - me, an earthbender, a modest scholar - would ever be a firebender." He spat the last word with such hatred that Lin reflexively took a step back.

"Fire...?" Lin asked. "What do you mean?"

Her father stood and walked away without replying, putting his hand on the shoulder of another surprisingly young teen. She had a swollen belly, and she stared at Lin with a mixture of fear and pity.

"This," he said quietly over his shoulder, "is my daughter. And her unborn daughter, Suki. Neither of them would ever touch the traitorous element that destroys everything in its path. Unlike you, Lin. You are not one of us. Come on, Min." He put a hand on her shoulder and tried to steer her away.

The teen broke from her father's grip for a moment to stare at her sister. "I never knew," she said to her. "I didn't know, I swear." She lifted her hand, as if with desire to reach out and touch her newly discovered sister, but she lowered it slowly again after only a moment.

"Neither did I," Lin sniffled, then stood, turned, and ran, tears making her vision blurry. She felt cool water on her ankles, and slowly all up her short legs as she hurried into the bay, not caring where she was going as long as it was away from the horrible crowd with their fear and admiration and cruelty. Kyoshi felt panic growing.

_No, Lin, don't go out there, not now!_

The tiny child kept sloshing through the water. Soon it was too deep for her and she was forced to swim, though it was all she could do to stay afloat in her hysteric state. She felt something moving in the water around her, and before she had time to realize what it was she was enveloped in the darkness of a vengeful monster's mouth.

Kyoshi could only be thankful that Lin's death was as quick and painless as her mother's, though she would never remember her home island - and the beast that guarded it - in the same gilded light again.

When Kyoshi returned to the iceberg in the far south, too disgusted to stay for long, the other spirits tried to comfort her. She pushed them away, insisting that she needed no comforting. She dwelled on her own dark thoughts for a while, and finally snapped.

_Get out of here, Roku. Maybe you will succeed where I failed._

Roku hesitated, about to say something to his past life and many-time friend, then thought better of it and disappeared. Kyoshi shuddered with the others as he left, feeling the quickly-becoming-familiar pain of separation, but after a moment she went back to skulking in the shadows of Aang's spirit. She spent only a moment to hope that this time, they would succeed. Another loss, another death, and her heart might break in two.

Why had she ever been mean to Lin?


	4. Roku's Pets

Roku waited, feeling only slightly guilty about his deception. The young Fire Prince had asked him to leave, and Roku had apparently acquiesced – but the Avatar stayed, hidden away in the small boy's body. Roku knew that if he had truly left, he would have had to return to the iceberg, and explain that he had wasted a perfectly good candidate because he was asked to.

Roku didn't feel up to facing Kyoshi under those circumstances.

But Roku wasn't entirely comfortable with the current situation, either. He knew that if Zuko's bending revealed itself, then the boy would know that he had been deceived. For some reason, Roku felt like that would end disastrously. So, he went along with the boy's wishes and watched him learn firebending, aching to aid him. The boy was not an exceptional bender without the help of the Avatar spirit, but Roku didn't dare help him in fear of the other elements appearing.

One particular training lesson, Roku couldn't help himself. Three years had gone by, and Roku had been forced to sit quietly – not exactly his strong point. This time, the instructors had decided to put both the royal children on the same training grounds. Zuko had been struggling with his latest sets of katas, and Azula had been flying through her – admittedly beginner level – drills. The Prince was getting increasingly frustrated. Finally, after the session, he stormed away in a huff, his small sister trailing after him.

"Zuzu, I saw your lesson. You seemed to be having a little trouble. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Azula." He said through gritted teeth.

Azula smiled a sugar-sweet smile, her high voice practically frilly. "Oh, Zuzu, are you sure? We could always ask Dad to have a private teacher for you. That way… well, you wouldn't embarrass yourself."

"Shut up."

"I'm just trying to help," Azula pouted.

"Go help someone else." He snapped. "I'm going to practice some more."

A small smile appeared on the young girl's face. "Why don't we practice here?" She took his arm and dragged him into an empty courtyard. "See? It's perfect, Zuzu. You can put on a show for me!"

"I'm not interested," he said, and made to walk back to the corridor. Azula grabbed him again.

"Please?" she said, with big eyes. "Please, Zuzu, I want to see you firebend just for me."  _So I can tell father that you're a failure._

Zuko couldn't sense his sisters hidden reasons. He only saw his little sister asking him to do something for her, which she  _never_  did. Did that mean that she needed him? The thought was tempting. "Whatever." Zuko finally said with a mostly fake sigh. "Pay close attention."

He took a deep breath and a deeper stance, sinking his weight into the earth beneath him. He started to move, and Roku took over.

Zuko's arms shot out to his sides, his hands snapped down, and he pulled a pillar of fire from the sun-heated ground to touch each hand.

Azula's eyes flew wide. She hadn't watched as extensively as she might have suggested – she was busy, of course, showing off her amazing skills – but she knew that Zuko had never been taught any move like this.

His eyes closed in concentration, Zuko swung his arms in front of him, the columns of flame stretching and bending. He moved his hands in quick circles, twining the flames around each other, and suddenly stopped with his hands clapped together as if in prayer. With a shout, Zuko shot his hands out like an arrow. The flames, twined together, rose up into the air. Zuko took a measured step back, bringing his arms down with his elbows tight against his sides, his hands facing up. The ropes split apart and returned to him in symmetrical half-circles. Zuko's arms pushed slowly out, and the fire followed his control and went forward, straight next to each other. They flew barely inches over Azula's head, and she had time to see that they had eyes, and a snout, and many rows of sharp teeth.

Zuko was controlling two dragons of flame.

Carefully, he brought them back to him, then had them rise up once again, swirling over his head. He took a deep breath, then snapped out of his squat, straightening his legs and pinning his arms to his sides in one quick movement. The dragons turned from their flight and dove towards the ground, hitting it and shattering into millions of glittering pieces. Zuko opened his eyes with a small smile. They glowed slightly.

"Zuko…." Azula mumbled, too scared to use her pet name. His eyes looked like two smoldering coals, or two golden stars set into his face. Slowly, gradually, the unnatural light went out of them. He tossed a stray strand of dark hair out of his face.

"How was that for a show?" he asked arrogantly.

Azula picked herself up, shaking. "It was…" she swallowed. She was a Princess, and she would not let her emotions show. She smiled weakly. "It was fine, Zuzu. Though, if I were you, I might talk to Dad about that tutor."

Then she skipped away, humming a happy tune to hide her apprehension.  _I won't be saying anything to Dad about this show,_ she thought _. I'm better than Zuko. This was just… a freak show. He doesn't have to know._ ** _I'm better than him._**

As her form retreated down the hall, Roku couldn't help but feel a little satisfied to put the Princess in her place. Plus, he thought, there had been no accidents. Only fire had come to the young boy's call.

But that didn't stop Zuko from feeling slightly confused. While he had been bending, he thought he had felt the same energy that had been inside of him while he breathed that one day, long ago. He could have sworn that the warm ball of light had been controlling him. But that was impossible, because the ball had left him many years ago.

… hadn't it?

Swaying slightly from the advanced moves, Zuko set off down the hall in the opposite direction that his sister had followed. He was going to find his mother, and tell her about what had happened.

He found her in her quarters. "Mom!" He shouted as soon as he saw her. "I need to tell you about what I just did, it was amazing!" He skidded to a stop in front of her bed, where she was propped up on her pillows. He bent over, panting, before he realized that this was not the Princely behavior his father had drilled into him. He made himself stand up straight and give an imperial look to the servants kneeling beside their Lady. Ursa waved them away with a small smile, expecting her son to divulge his latest 'adventure,' which usually encompassed stealing from the kitchens, or hiding on the roof with the stray crowcats. Zuko jumped onto the bed, sat next to her, and to Ursa's surprise began to explain his amazing feat of creating and controlling two monstrous dragons made of fire.

Ursa tried to smile at him, but secretly she was horrified by what her son had just told her. That technique was so ancient that many considered it a dead form, and those who did remember it tended to reverently refer to it as 'Roku's Pets.' How her son could perform a trick like  _that,_  Ursa had no clue.

Suddenly she remembered that day almost three years ago when Zuko had shown her his 'breathing,' which she had recognized as bending of all four elements. Even though Zuko hadn't exhibited any more signs of being the Avatar, and had assured her that he couldn't do it again, Ursa still wondered. Roku's presence would explain Zuko's ability to perform the dead firebender's special form. But Ursa didn't care how many special moves Roku taught him. If her son was the Avatar, she was terrified of what his father might do to him.

She looked up at her small eigjt-year-old, trying to look impressed instead of dismayed. "That truly is amazing, sweetie. A beautiful form, I'm sure." She reached out to ruffle his hair. He scowled for a moment, straightening it back into his Pheonix Tail. Then his grin returned, and he nodded fervently.

"It was so cool, Mom! And Azula was shocked!" He then broke down into hysterical, slightly dark giggles, remembering his sister's expression. Ursa was even more horrified at this news. If her husband was dark, she thought, her daughter must be the deepest black imaginable. There was something terribly  _off_  about the child. If Azula knew about this… there was no telling how she might exploit the information.

And number one on the list of possibilities was telling Ozai, which Ursa knew would end horribly.

"Um, Mom?" Zuko's tentative voice snapped Ursa out of her thought. She looked up to see that his smile was gone and he was staring desolately at his hands.

"What is it, Zuko?" she asked, concerned with his sudden change of mood.

"Azula says that I should get a private tutor for my bending, so I don't… embarrass myself. Is that true, Mom? Am I really that bad?"

Ursa clucked sympathetically. "No, sweetie, you're a wonderful bender. Azula just can't see it because you're her brother. But the tutor isn't a bad idea," she added thoughtfully. Zuko groaned.

"Oh, Mom!"

"Hush," she said quickly. "It's not because you're bad, it's because you're good. Royal children should have private tutors so they can learn especially difficult bending."

That seemed to satisfy the young boy. "Oh, I see. Okay, mom."

Ursa smiled and squeezed Zuko's knee. She didn't say that it was as much to keep Azula away from him while in training as out of the desire for him to learn more advanced moves. "Sweetie?"

"Hmm?"

"Don't tell your Dad about this bending. Save the really good moves for when he comes to watch your sessions, alright?"

There was a moment's pause. But eventually, Zuko agreed. "If that's what you want, Mom."

She leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "I know you want to impress him, Zuko. But he's always impressed with your bending."

Zuko mumbled something with a glare.

"What was that?" she asked sharply, more to put him in his place than anything.

"Nothing, Mom." He assured her hurriedly.

"Good. Now, off you go. Get ready for dinner."

He nodded and hopped off the bed. He paused with his hand on the door handle. "You know, when I did the dragons, I thought I felt the… the ball of energy again. That's ridiculous, right?"

Ursa's mouth went dry, but she managed to assure Zuko anyway. When he had closed the door behind him, she slipped off her plush bed and went to her desk, pulling out a blank ivory scroll and a quill. She would be writing her brother-in-law about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There has been some confusion about the timeline. To clear it up: The second chapter is actually the one that takes place the earliest. Chapter 3 is a few years after that one. Next comes chapter 1, and after that, chapter four on is consecutive.


	5. Ursa

"Now, the kata, again. Get it right this time," the trainer snapped, obviously tired of his companion and barely holding back his temper.

Zuko was feeling quite similar. "I'm. Trying," he gritted out.

"Stop trying and bend! It's not even a difficult set!"

"Alright, alright, leave me alone and let me do it!" Zuko yelled. He took a shaky deep breath and started the set again.

"No!" the tutor interrupted after only a few seconds. "The movement is down and out, not down! Your movements must be smooth, and flow from one to the next. You cannot snap to and fro. Again."

Zuko ground his teeth together to keep back a stream of un-Princely comments.  _Smooth,_  he told himself.  _Flowing._

 _Like water,_ something in his mind told him.

Zuko took several deep breaths this time, more to calm himself than to gather his chi. Then he started again, keeping in mind the flowing motion his instructor had mentioned.  _Move like water…_  he thought, focusing on keeping the bright flame dancing before him. When he finished, he finally realized that his tutor hadn't made a single comment – which was unusual for the gruff ex-soldier. Zuko turned to face him, having migrated across the training grounds in the course of his set.

"Okay," he said, slightly out of breath, "what was wrong with it this time? You haven't said a thing."

"Wrong?" the teacher asked, seeming a little dazed. "There was nothing… wrong… about it. But oddly, I couldn't help but think that you looked remarkably like a waterbender - if you look past the skin, that is."

Zuko froze, for some reason feeling a guilty feeling well from deep inside, and then forced himself to breathe. "I could have you banished for that," he told the tutor, sounding much too old to be ten. The older man shrugged.

"Just an observation," he said nonchalantly, though Zuko thought he heard a quiver of fear in his voice. "That's enough for today, I think. Tomorrow, we will begin the next set. You finally seemed to have grasped this one."

Zuko scowled at him as he walked away, but as soon as his back was turned he let a grin spread across his face. It had been two years since the incident with the dragon, and Zuko appreciated feeling like he was good at firebending again after so long with Azula's egotism.

For the next few months, Zuko moved through his teaching at a significantly faster pace. The instructor didn't make another remark about his unusual style, perhaps out of fear of retribution, or perhaps because the Prince was obviously a much better bender when he used it.

Roku wasn't forced out of hiding, and hoped he wouldn't be until the proper time, when the boy was sixteen. He'd seen the consequences for telling the hosts before that, three times over. He was not going to risk losing this one. He did, however, give some hints when Zuko's bending could benefit from the other elements' influence.

Everything was going fine, until the first morning when Ozai decided to watch Zuko's session.

Ursa, constantly wary of her husband interacting with her boy, was sure that she always came along when he did so. He would sit in the stands above the ring, silently watching, absolutely still. She would sit like a rock beside him. They slipped into the shadowed seats at the top so quietly that most of the time, Zuko never saw them – which Ursa was thankful for. Zuko always became nervous and over-thought his bending when he was trying to impress Ozai.

For a week, Ozai did this. He silently slipped in, observed the lesson, and just as silently slipped away. But on the eighth day, he turned his head ever so slightly to his wife, his eyes never moving from the boy in the practice arena.

"Does it occur to you how… fluid… he is in his motions?"

Ursa hid a smile. It was the closest Ozai had ever come to complimenting his eldest.

"Yes. It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's treasonous."

Ursa gasped. She bit back angry words, and fought to make her voice calm to avoid being treasonous herself. "What do you mean, my Prince?"

"Look at him," he spat. "He looks like a water tribe savage. It's disgusting. He's weak even when holding the element of power."

Ursa's blood ran cold. She took a deep breath, careful to disguise it as normal, and reached a hesitant hand to touch her husband's knee. "Sweetheart, our son is just very flexible. He feels the moves, and flows with them. Isn't that a good thing?" She was treading on dangerous grounds. Anyone else might have been whipped for that tone.

Ozai said nothing. He didn't look at the hand that touched him. He only stared contemptuously down at the Zuko. When the Prince's session was over, he got up just as quietly as always and left. He paused at the door to the stairs, and turned back to his wife. "You know, Ursa, if I didn't know better," he paused and gave her a significant look, "I'd say you were protecting him. From what, I wonder?"

Ursa said nothing, her mouth glued closed. Fortunately, Ozai turned away again and walked down without waiting for an answer. Ursa looked down at her son, sweating and panting yet with a huge, almost comical grin, and knew that Ozai was right and always would be – her son would never be unprotected if she could help it.

She stood after a moment, and turned to walk to the far door. She did not want to follow her husband in the dark stairwell. But it was because she had stepped into the other one that she didn't realize that Zuko had run into him on his way out of the arena.

"I was watching you, Zuko." Ozai said coolly. Zuko immediately froze. Ozai laughed. "Yes, I was. I have to say, you were very flowing. Like water. I wonder where you learned to move like that?"

His impressed tone was enough. Zuko smiled at him hesitantly. "I don't know, Prince Ozai. I guess it just came from inside."

Ozai smiled warmly and patted his son on the back, just as Zuko had hoped he would so many years ago. "Go run along, son. Ask the kitchen for some rolls as a special treat."

Zuko beamed and ran off. Ozai turned and set off to his rooms with a much darker smile, one very similar to that of a predator closing in for the kill.

The next day, Ozai called a meeting with his father. Ursa was careful to wear her emotionless mask as she walked down the hall with her husband and two children, though she subtly drew Zuko to walk on her far side. Azula gave her a sidelong glance as she did so, but at least Ozai didn't seem to notice. He didn't notice during the meeting, either. He was too absorbed staring proudly at Azula.

Zuko clenched his hands while he watched his younger sister. Though Ursa had a guess, she still leaned over and whispered almost silently, "Zuko, what is it?"

Just as quietly, like the rustling of fabric, he whispered, "I hate it. She's such a show off. I want to show Grandfather what I have been learning. I'm almost into the advanced sets."

Ursa forced her breath to stay slow and steady. Was this a trap that her crafty husband had been planning? "That's fine, Zuko, but if you show him, make sure to keep your movements jerky. I don't want you to flow like you were doing yesterday at training."

"Why?"

"Just trust me, darling."

He hesitated, but nodded almost imperceptibly.

"Good boy," she said.

A moment later Azula took a seat next to him.

"You'll never catch up," she breathed with a smirk.

Zuko gritted his teeth and looked to his mother, hoping that she would allow him to use his technique. She shook her head. Zuko frowned at her, but stood. "I'd like to demonstrate what I've been learning."

The kata that Azula had run through was one that he had learned only a week ago, and he could perform it with average skill – but he was used to flowing through the movements. The way Azula did it was completely different. He figured that if he couldn't do it his way, he might as well try hers.

It turned out, her way was very different. As he went into an airborne kick, he tired to fire out his leg like she had, lost his balance, and fell, his tailbone hitting the tiled floor painfully. He resisted the urge to rub it, knowing that it would be the height of rudeness to do so in front of his Grandfather. His mother rushed over to him.

"I failed," he murmured. "At that…" he added under his breath.

Ursa gave him a half-sympathetic, half-thankful look. "No, I loved watching you. That's who you are, Zuko." Zuko looked up at her, wishing she had let him really show off. She grabbed his shoulder. "Someone who keeps fighting even though it's hard."

Zuko glared. "Hard to learn a new way," he finished for her quietly. Ursa pulled him back to the others, who seemed delighted at his failure. Azulon's voice boomed over them.

"Prince Ozai, why are you wasting my time with this pomp? Just tell me what you want. Everyone else go." He waved his hand at them dismissively.

Ursa breathed a sigh of relief and dragged Zuko to her feet. She was out of the door with surprising speed, knowing that the audience wouldn't last long. She had many things to do in that time, and she would waste none of it. She was halfway to her quarters when she realized that Zuko and Azula were no longer trailing her. She didn't think much of it – they were probably off playing around with Mai and Ty Lee – and she could practically feel the clock ticking. She strode on.

After writing Iroh, pleading him to abandon his crazy idea and come home, Ursa hurried to pack things for her and Zuko. She knew that it wasn't safe for him to be in the Palace any longer, not with his powers emerging and his father keeping a watchful eye on him. Something had happened, and Ozai was no longer playing the patient predator. He was going to make his move – and Ursa had every intention of beating him to it.

Minutes later, a slightly disgruntled Ozai slipped into their chambers. Ursa had finished her preparations and was lounging on the plush red quilt on her bed, running her fingers absently along the fine embroidery. She looked up as her husband entered and smiled.

"What did Fire Lord Azulon need to talk to you about, my dear?"

He stared at her with narrowed eyes. "I'm afraid that that must stay between him and me," he said smoothly, not souding particularly apologetic at all. He looked around the room, finding it unusually absent of servants. "Where did you send them all? I want a hot bath drawn for me."

"I can do it for you," Ursa said easily, slipping off the bed. She floated over to her husband and rubbed her hand down the curve of Ozai's jaw seductively. "You just stay in here and relax," she purred.

Ozai looked faintly surprised. "I suppose…."

"Good." She stood on her tip toes and nuzzled her lips against his, then turned and drifted out. "I will come get you when it is ready."

She closed the door gently before she could hear his answer - if he gave one at all - listening for the click as the latch snapped into place. She looked around the hall, checking that no one was in sight, and took a small silver key from a pocket on the inside of her robe. She pushed it into the keyhole and silently locked the door. Then she went to gather her son.

She met a surprise, however, when she found her daughter in the room with him. "You must know the pain of losing a first born son," she growled in a bad intimidation of a manly voice, smiling cruelly at Zuko's expression.

"You're lying!" He cried. "Dad would never do something like that." His voice shook feebly.

"Like what?" Ursa demanded, feeling like this little meeting had gone on quite long enough. Zuko was clutching his quilt as if pained by something, and Ursa had a feeling that the something was his sister. She grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the room. "We need to have a talk."

She dragged Azula to a niche in the hallway outside. She roughly stuffed the young girl inside and staring down at her; who, for once, seemed a little frightened."What were you two talking about?" she commanded.

"We were just pretending. Like a play."

"Oh, I'm sure you were," Ursa snapped. "Don't lie to me, Azula. You're a good liar – a brilliant liar – but you're not good enough to convince me of that. Now tell the truth."

Azula swallowed and seemed to gather her cool wits about her. She gave her mother a cold smile. "I was saving your  _precious son._ "

Ursa was taken aback. "Saving? Saving him from what?" Surely, Azula knew nothing about Zuko's... condition.

"Grandfather ordered Dad to kill him," Azula said. Her voice was so flat and emotionless that Ursa could say nothing for a moment.

"And  _why_  would he do that?" she asked, not as unconvinced as Zuko had been.

"Because… well, it's too much to explain, Mom. At least while I'm cramped in here."

Ursa lowered herself, balancing on the balls of her feet so her eyes were at the level of her daughter's, but didn't move to let the girl out. "Azula. I want you to tell me one thing, and Agni help you if you don't tell me the truth, understand?"

Azula's gold eyes stared at her unwaveringly for several long seconds. "Okay, Mother. I promise I'll tell you the truth, if you promise me one thing."

Ursa didn't have time for this. Ozai had probably tried the door by now, and she needed to grab Zuko and leave. "Fine, what it it?" she asked impatiently. It wasn't proper for a small girl to make deals with her own mother.

Azula grabbed her by the shoulders, strangely lightly, her eyes unusually somber. "I want you to promise me that you love me, and that you won't ever leave me."

Ursa had expected a long list of things, most of them dark and unfriendly, but that had been the last thing she had ever thought to hear her daughter ask of her. She paused for barely a moment. "Of course I love you, Azula. You're my daughter. Nothing can change that."

The small grip on her shoulders tightened. "So you only love me because you have to?" she asked despairingly, her bright eyes sad.

"No, that's not what I meant." Ursa said briskly. "I love you because I will always love you. That's what mothers do, Azula."

"So… you're not going to go away?"

Ursa paused. "I'm afraid, Azula, that I do need to leave now. And I need to take Zuko."

Azula's face scrunched up angrily. "I  _knew_ it!" she growled, and pushed Ursa away, shoving herself deeper into the niche. "You love him more than me. I knew it! I won't tell you anything. Not ever!"

Azula's wails were cut short as Ursa reached deep into the niche, grabbed her shoulders, and dragged her out. She enveloped her arms around the child and held her to her. Azula's small sobs slowed, quieted by the think cloth of her mother's robes. "I need to leave," Ursa said slowly into her daughter's dark hair, "because if I don't, your brother and I will be hurt. Maybe even killed." Ursa loathed to say such dark things to the toddler, but her time was running short and she would do anything to convince the girl. "You don't want to see that happen, do you?"

"Daddy… he'd be the one to hurt you, wouldn't he?" Azula sniffled from Ursa's robes.

"Maybe," Ursa said. "Maybe not. But either way, I need to know: why did Grandfather Azulon order that?"

"Dad wanted the throne," Azula said quietly, with the dull tone of someone summarizing a long and boring show. "He showed Grandfather that he had heirs, were Iroh had none. He asked Grandfather to pass over Uncle and make him the Crown Prince. Grandfather was angry. He said that Iroh had gone through enough, and that Ozai didn't understand. He said that Dad would have to… to kill Zuko, to know the pain that his brother had gone through."

Ursa nodded, not entirely surprised, but her heart pounding with fear for her eldest. "Then, I need you to do me a favor, Azula."

The small face turned up, bright eyes wide.

"I need you to help me get Zuko out."

Slowly, Azula nodded.

"I'm going to go head off Ozai." Ursa told her. "I want you to get Zuko in some warm clothes and pack some of his things, then meet me out at the stables with him, alright?"

Another nod.

"Good girl," Ursa said, adapting the phrase she usually reserved for Zuko. She leaned forward, planting a light kiss on Azula's forehead. "I need to go. I'm counting on you."

Ursa stood and whirled around, abandoning appearance and racing back to her room. Ozai might not have checked the door, she thought optimistically, though she didn't really expect that much. She might have time to draw his bath and pretend like nothing had happened. But her feeble thoughts couldn't convince even herself.

Behind her, standing in the hallway, a dark smile crept onto Azula's face; a much more comfortable position for her than the bawling demanding child.  _Not a good enough liar for you?_  She chuckled to herself as she turned away from Zuko's door.  _Wrong again, Mother._


	6. War Meeting

It had been three years since the disappearance of his mother, and Zuko had never been quite the same. His Uncle hadn't been home since he left for the siege, not even for Grandfather's funeral, and he hadn't even written after the death of his son. Zuko was left without his mother, his Uncle, or his cousin – and  _with_  his dear father and sister. Not to mention his ever-present and always-grating tutor.

"Prince Zuko, your mind is elsewhere."

"I wish it wasn't the only thing elsewhere," the young teen muttered.

"Unfortunately, your wishes mean nothing to me," the tutor smirked. "And don't say, 'I'm the Prince' again, I have permission from Fire Lord Ozai to  _ignore you._ "

"Ignore this," Zuko snapped, hurling himself into the kata. He was nearly halfway through it, certain that this time, he would land a solid blow on the instructor, when the older man sidestepped the blast of flame from his shoe, grabbed Zuko's foot, and twisted his leg, throwing Zuko to the floor of the arena. Zuko glared up at him, furious to see that he didn't have a drop of sweat on him. The tutor clucked down at him disapprovingly.

"I'm surprised, Prince Zuko. I've done that three times before. Don't you learn?"

Zuko said nothing, gritting his teeth in anger at himself.

"I don't understand it. You could do this set without problem three years ago. Few of my students ever go backwards in training."

"I can't imagine why not," Zuko growled.

"No, I wouldn't think you could," the tutor said with a small smile. "Your imagination leaves much to desire, young Prince. But not as much as your firebending does."

"Shut up!" Zuko screamed, leaping to his feet. "I'll show you!"

But after a few seconds, Zuko found himself back on the floor of the arena. The trainer had lost his cool demeanor at last.

"No, Zuko!" he yelled. "You  _must_  learn your basics! How many times to I have to throw you for you to learn? You do  _not_  offer your foot to your opponent, understand?"

"No, I don't! I don't understand! I don't understand why you won't let me move on to the next set!"

"If you can't do this one," the instructor snarled, "then you absolutely cannot do the next one. I have half a mind to move you to the previous set. Maybe you'd learn your fundamentals a little easier that way."

"As long as the other half of your mind doesn't agree with it," Zuko said.

The tutor sighed, and offered the Prince a hand up. Zuko sighed too, taking it resignedly.

"Alright," the tutor said, obviously calming himself with effort. "Once more. Remember, do not give me a hold on you."

Zuko took a breath and was about to leap into action when a cool voice inside of him told him to remember the flow. To move between the movements. Zuko paused, and then shook his head. His mother had told him not to use that style. If he couldn't have her, then he would at least follow her will.

Roku was getting quite tired of this. The boy would never be a good Avatar if he couldn't master his own element. And he never would master it, if he couldn't move past this mental block. No matter what Roku did, Zuko always seemed to dismiss his hints and go back to flailing through his sets.

Ozai was also getting tired of his son. He went to the boy's training occasionally, in the hopes of catching him in the act of the water-style bending, but the boy never satisfied his wishes. And without any reason, Ozai couldn't harm Zuko, which he desperately desired to do. With him out of the way, Azula would be heir, and that was much more to his liking.

If he wouldn't be good at the water-style, and let Ozai kill him, he should at least be good at the imperial style. His floundering about even in the easy sets was disgraceful for a Prince.

When his lesson was over, Prince Zuko was handed a towel by a servant to wipe the sweat off his dripping brow. He mumbled thanks to the servant girl, who blushed and bowed hurriedly. Panting, Zuko took off towards his rooms, hoping to lock himself into the bathroom with a hot bath before Azula finished her session. As he walked by the stands, he looked up, seeing the ghostly pale face of the Fire Lord. He stopped for a moment, his eyes locked with his Father's over the towel he held in his hands. They stared at each other for a long second, and then Zuko turned his head and walked on.

* * *

He lowered himself thankfully into the steaming water in his room, having narrowly avoided his sister. He had a servant massage soap into his thick black hair, closing his eyes and feeling the tension of the day's work seep out of him. The servant rambled on about something, Zuko easily tuning out the man's smooth voice as his fingers rubbed his head in small circles. One thing he said, however, caught Zuko's ear.

"Your Uncle is coming home, my Prince. The disgraced – though I don't personally enjoy calling him that – General was required by his brother to join him for a War Council in a week's time. I wonder where he has been all this time?"

Zuko snorted. "Probably just squirmed through the hole he broke and has been peacefully drinking tea in Ba Sing Se."

The servant laughed, a little surprised that Zuko had answered him. He had grown used to asking questions and the Prince appearing to not even hear him. The servant had grown bold, talking about things best not mentioned, thinking that Zuko was never listening. The servant was thoroughly embarrassed, and wished he hadn't rambled so carelessly. He finally gathered his wits. "An interesting opinion, Prince Zuko, and from what I hear not entirely misplaced."

Zuko sat up, making the bath water slosh dangerously close to the edge. He ignored it. "What have you been hearing?"

"Nothing much, and certainly nothing of much consequence," the servant assured him. "Just that no one has seen him since he abandoned the siege."

"Yeah," Zuko said gloomily, sinking back down, "I know."

Zuko dismissed the chatty servant eventually, who had been unusually quiet, and let himself soak in the bath, thinking about his mother and his Uncle.

When Uncle arrived at the palace a week later, Zuko made himself stay in his room. He would not give the old man the satisfaction of knowing that Zuko had missed him, not when he had left for so long without writing. Where had he been when Zuko's mother had left, exactly? Gone. Like he had been for the past three years. So though Zuko really did want to see his kindly Uncle, he tried to convince himself that he really didn't.

Those thoughts evaporated when, a few minutes later, Zuko heard raised voices outside of his room. He scrambled off his bed and put his ear to the door.

"No, I will  _not_  go see my brother, I have no wish to see my brother. I  _wish_  to see his son, now let me through!" Uncle's voice boomed. Zuko threw himself back from the door just in time. It burst open, and in a moment Zuko found himself enveloped in a warm bear hug.

"Prince Zuko!" Iroh set him down. "I'm sorry, I know you're almost a man and you probably don't like hugs. But I have missed you, my boy." He was beaming like a madman.

Zuko smiled back. Normally, he would be pleased that his Uncle had called him a man, and would pull off a somber look, chastising him for the hug. But truthfully, the hug had been perfect. "I missed you too, Uncle," Zuko mumbled almost instinctively, then cursed himself inwardly for going back on his promise.

Iroh seemed to collect some small scrap of his royal air. "Why didn't you come down to see me?" he asked. "You always used to be the first one to welcome me back." Zuko said nothing for a while. Iroh squinted at him. "And where's your mother? I figured she would be here, with you."

Zuko gasped, his bright gold eyes wide. "You haven't heard?" It seemed impossible, somehow, that the entire world didn't know that his mother had left him alone.

Now Iroh looked faintly worried. "Heard? Heard what, Prince Zuko?"

Zuko stared at him defiantly, to block out tears that wanted to form in his eyes. "She left, three years ago. I don't know exactly what happened."

"Three years ago?" Iroh appeared surprised. "And no one told me?"

"You were gone too!" Zuko practically yelled. "How could we have told you when no one knew where you were?"

"I'm sorry, Prince Zuko," Iroh said slowly. "Would you care to take a walk with me?"

Zuko wanted to say no, but Iroh knelt down and held his arms out, just the way Ursa used to, and even though he was thirteen and he should have grown out of them, Zuko gave his Uncle a hug and nodded.

Prince Zuko and General Iroh had returned from their walk after several hours, both of them in a considerably better mood than they had started. When they reached his door, Zuko turned and bowed to his Uncle.

"Thank you for taking me out, Uncle," he said sincerely.

"It was my pleasure," Iroh said warmly, patting Zuko's shoulder. "But if you excuse me, I must attend a war meeting with my dear brother." After Zuko's small smile, he turned and walked away, rubbing his beard.

Iroh knew more about Zuko's mother than he had let on to the boy, but it was still not as much as he would hope. The Order of the White Lotus was so secretive that it was impossible to know all of its doings, even when a member yourself. Iroh doubted that he knew of half the members. How could he, when they were spread across the world? So though he knew that they had a hand in whatever had happened, he also knew that whatever they had done was certainly not enough to keep her out of harm's way, and that it was most likely an act of desperation.

Iroh pondered this. Was there any way to find her?

Zuko, oblivious so his Uncle's thoughts, slowly closed the door, then ran across his room and right out of another one. He would attend that war council if it was the last thing he did.

Unfortunately, the guards seemed determined that Zuko would  _not_ attend the war meeting. Zuko was getting very frustrated when he felt a familiar, warm hand on his shoulder.

"Prince Zuko, what's wrong?" Iroh asked, his tone surprised. He had just left his nephew in his room. How had he managed to get here without Iroh noticing him? Zuko turned to him, his young face crestfallen.

"I want to go into the war chamber, but the guards won't let me pass!"

Iroh pulled him a little ways away and leaned down to him conspiratorially. "You're not missing anything, trust me. These meetings are dreadfully boring."

Zuko wasn't convinced. "If I'm gonna rule this nation one day, don't you think I need to start learning as much as I can?"

Iroh was surprised by the Prince's ferocity. He would certainly make a good Fire Lord if he kept that passion, Iroh thought.

"Very well. But you must promise not to say anything. These old folks are a bit sensitive, you know."

The boy bowed to him, a smile spreading across his handsome young face. "Thank you, Uncle!"

Zuko regretted his decision almost instantly. He had tried to act very mature and adult when he was convincing Uncle, and he really did believe that he should learn how to rule, but Uncle was right - the Council was extremely boring. He had started nodding off many times when Uncle's sharp elbow nudged him and brought him back to awareness, a sympathetic smile on his face. So, to keep himself awake, Zuko started playing a game. Each time one of the gruff officers would suggest a battle plan, Zuko would imagine himself as a soldier under their command. He was brave and heroic, charging his enemies and fearlessly saving his comrades. The Fire Nation would win due to the leadership of whoever was suggesting the plan, and of course, Zuko's amazing prowess in battle.

Then a new general stood up. "The Earth Kingdom defenses are centered here," he said, using a stick to point at a small green token on the large map. Zuko happily began his new dream, seeing the lay of the mountains in front of him and the endless rows of green, faceless tunics that were the Earth Kingdom fighters - his enemies. "It is a dangerous battalion of their strongest earthbenders and fiercest warriors," the general continued. At this, Zuko gave a smile of excitement. It would be an amazing battle, he decided; the kind that wasn't decided until the very end. Unless you were the person dreaming it up, and already knew that the Fire Nation would win.

"That is why I am recommending the forty-first division," the General's voice carried on. Zuko knew these must be experienced, seasoned warriors and pictured himself standing among strong men, their golden eyes blazing in anticipation. Then another, older general spoke up and interrupted his thoughts.

"But the forty-first is entirely new recruits! How do you expect them to defeat a powerful Earth Kingdom Battalion?" There were grunts of agreement around the circle of soldiers. Zuko was also puzzled. His daydream changed, the faces of the men around him turning into young, confused, and frightened people that barely looked like soldiers at all. This couldn't be right, he thought. Even if he was the one in control, there was no feasible way that these men would win the battle - which was against the rules in his daydreams.

"I don't," the first general growled with a cold smile, freezing Zuko's blood. "They'll be used as a distraction while we mount an attack from the rear. What better to use as bait then fresh meat?"

_Fresh meat._

The words rang through Zuko's young head hollowly. How could he call them that? He leaped to his feet, almost without meaning to, and turned to the general that had spoken.

"You can't sacrifice an entire division like that!" he yelled, feeling Uncle tense behind him. Zuko was too outraged to notice. "Those soldiers love and defend our nation! How can you betray them like that?" Zuko had always wanted to be a soldier, because of his devotion and desire to protect his counrty. He wanted to be out fighting for it. He didn't want to be sacrificed up like bait, like some... sub-human creature! He was a man just like the rest of these soldiers!

It was only then, a few seconds after his outburst, that Zuko realized that every pair of eyes in the room was locked on him, each old face wearing an expression of disdain and disapproval. Zuko swung his gaze to his father, who looked coldly furious.

"Prince Zuko, you disgrace yourself with this childish fit," he spat slowly, carefully pronouncing each word with hatred. "You have challenged the Council's plan, and so the Council itself. You have endangered their honor, and they will do what is necessary to regain it." Ozai's cold, lightless gold eyes flickered with an angry anticipation. "The only solution is an Agni Kai. In two day's time, at sunset."

Zuko heard Iroh gasp behind him and begin to rise to his feet in protest. Zuko suddenly felt panic rising; he would not let his Uncle jeopardize himself for him, just like Zuko knew his mother had. He would not lose him because of his own mistake.

So, quickly, he looked the general in the eye and measuredly said, "I am not afraid." His young voice didn't quaver, and Zuko sighed inwardly with relief as he sensed Iroh sink back down. But it was true - the General was old, long away from battle, and Zuko was young and capable. He might even let his secret form take over for this challenge, to take him by surprise. But no matter what he did, Zuko had  _no_ intention of losing.

* * *

"Oh, Prince Zuko, what have you gotten yourself into..." Iroh muttered despairingly. Zuko sat on his bed, watching his Uncle sit in the chair in the corner with his head in his hands.

"Uncle, I meant what I said. I'm not afraid," he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"That doesn't mean that you  _should_ not be afraid!" Iroh snapped. He realized that he was yelling, and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes for a moment. When he looked up, his expression was gentler.

"I know you were trying to do the right thing, my nephew, and in my opinion it was honorable that you stood up for the forty-first division. But you gave me a promise not to speak, and you broke that promise."

Zuko realized this for the first time. When he had argued against the general's plan, he had been too passionate to think about the condition under which he had entered the war meeting. Zuko hung his head, occupying his eyes with the busy embroidery swimming across the bedspread.

"I'm sorry, Uncle," he said. "I had forgotten."

"So I noticed," Iroh said wryly. "I will forgive you, Prince Zuko, but you must promise me one thing."

"Anything, Uncle," Zuko said fiercely, ready to make it up to the kind old man.

The 'kind old man's' eyes winked with a wicked light. "I hope you have no qualms with leaving your private tutor alone tomorrow."

Zuko grinned.

* * *

"What have you found?"

Azula knelt before her father, a smirk on her small face. "He didn't come to the training session today. I waited in his hallway and saw him walking back with General Iroh. They were talking about bending, so I assume - though I know you say never to do it - that he was out teaching him, preparing him for tomorrow."

Ozai rested his chin in his hand thoughtfully. "It seems that Prince Zuko will not back down from the challenge, as I had thought the coward might." He sat in silence for a few moments, and Azula resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably on the hard floor, her knee throbbing. "Tell me, Azula; what  _exactly_  were they talking about when you overheard them?"

Azula thought hard for a second. "They mentioned the word water several times... they said dragon... something about form... Uncle said that he was surprised and impressed..." Azula fell into silence, her face screwed up in concentration. A moment later she relaxed. "I don't remember much else."

Ozai's eyes flashed with annoyance for a second. "Alright. You may leave now."

Azula bit her tongue hard to keep from saying anything, tasting metallic blood in her mouth as she stood and stalked out of the door, leaving her father to his thoughts. She paused at the door, wondering if information about the incident in the garden two years ago would make him forgive her. She opened her mouth to say something, but after a moment she shook her head; she would not be put in a bad light by Zuko's  _freakish_  bending. With a heavy sigh, she slipped out.

After a few minutes of silent contemplation, Fire Lord Ozai called a servant and demanded that she tell General Katsu come to him immediately. The frightened girl nodded fervently once she had the message and scittered off hurriedly, backing away so she wouldn't have to expose her back to the ruthless and unexpectable man. While he waited to set his trap, the brooding father was alone once more.


	7. The Uncle

Iroh left Zuko's room with a satisfied kind of apprehension. He wasn't happy with the situation - how could he be, when a thirteen-year-old boy was about to be forced into a fight to the death for standing up for his soldiers? But Iroh knew, at least, that the boy was as prepared as he ever would be for the Agni Kai. Iroh gave a wry smile.  _And when I am the one to teach the boy, even if only for a day, I should think that he will be far beyond 'good enough.'_

Iroh's thoughts turned to the boy's bending. He had known something was different about the boy ever since he had come home - seeing him with eyes that had seen the Spirit World. Iroh could see now what he could not see before, but had been passingly mentioned by his mother in their many letters. The energy that was inside of Zuko was a pure, swirling mass at the base of his neck, whereas most people had a thin mist all throughout their bodies. This was worrying to Iroh. He knew what it could mean. It would certainly explain some things. But it also raised many questions. Namely,  _how in crawling Koh's lair had it happened?_

So, as he strode slowly down the halls of the Fire Nation Royal Palace, Iroh was thinking about the coming day and hoping that Zuko would be able to end it quickly and not drag out the General's humiliation for any longer than was necessary. He was half-praying to Agni, half-hoping to himself that if Zuko was what Iroh thought he would not give himself away to save his life, because it would only end in the opposite effect. With these heavy thoughts on his mind, it was no wonder Iroh paused his stately march once in a while to stare out the open walls and into the garden courtyards. It was fall, and the leaves on the trees were beginning to turn an auburn and rust color, like small pieces of dancing flame or burnt earth. Iroh noticed this, and gave a small, sad smile. It was too beautiful of a time to be disrupting the life of his nephew.

His smile turned darker.  _You will pay for that, brother._

Then, just as he started to turn his gaze away from the peaceful scene in front of him, Iroh caught a flicker of movement in the garden. He stopped, his mind churning through all the possibilities and possible dangers, and he slowly turned and looked again. There, behind the tall tree, Iroh saw his a flash of pink robes - his niece. He wanted to sigh with relief, but reminded himself that danger wasn't necessarily absent when she was present. He quietly took a few more steps down the hall to get a better view of her.

She held two tiny whips of flame in her hands and and expression of furious frustration. "Go!" she told them, snapping her hands. "Come on, you idiotic flame, I want you to move!" The flame only rippled slightly. She let it drop, staring where it had been a moment ago. Then, on impulse, she let flames roar out of her hand and light the grass under her feet ablaze. Her gold eyes flickered in the firelight. She waited until the ground beneath was scorched, then closed her fist and killed the flames.

"How did he do it?" she mumbled to herself. Iroh listened carefully, trying to hear what she was saying. "It has to be easy if he can... so why can't I do it?" She growled. "Alright, dragons, come one."

The girl took a stance again. Realization finally dawned on Iroh. She was trying to do Roku's pets, the form that Ursa had mentioned Zuko once performing. Iroh almost pitied the girl, because he understood. When he had received his sister's letter, he had been disbelieving. If Iroh could not perform the form, then his small and untalented nephew should not be able to either. But Iroh had come to terms with it, because he knew that the katas that Zuko could perform were no blessing if their secrets were discovered.

Iroh was about to walk on when the girl gave a shout of frustration, letting the fire fizzle out again.

"Aaggh!" She yelled. "I hope you kill him, Father. I hope you show him tomorrow!" Angry tears streaked down her face, and she turned to the turtleducks peacefully swimming on the pond and blasted flame at them until there were four small, fluffy reptilian bodies floating upside-down on the peaceful water. The mother came after her with a screech of rage, and the girl kicked her, sending her flying high into the air. She burned the animal before it could turn and fly back to her. Its body fell into the pond with a splash, joining those of its offspring on the surface. Azula smiled under her tears, feeling a little calmer.

 _What?_  Iroh snapped to a stop. His niece's violence was shocking, and more than a little disturbing, but what really caught him was the words.  _Does she mean that Ozai will be the one to fight him?_

Iroh thought in silence for a moment, thinking about everything, his agile mind flipping through the possibilities.

 _That bastard!_ He thought finally, realizing what his brother had planned and feeling a surge of fatherly protectiveness.  _He found a loophole, and he's going to use it._ Iroh took a deep breath, then span on his heels. He would not allow his nephew to fight a battle he would ultimately lose. Because even if Zuko won, it would only be by revealing his power, and that would be securing his death as surely as if he lost.

As he turned, however, he bumped into a suit of armor. He ignored it, glad that it had not topple over, and stepped around it. To his shock, however, the armor stepped with him. Looking up, Iroh realized that his barrier was not a badly-placed suit of armor, but an even more unwelcome soldier.

"General, sir." The soldier bowed shallowly. "I have orders from Fire Lord Ozai to escort you to dinner immediately."

Iroh tried his best not to glare. "And why did he not send a servant?"

The soldier did not incline his head or give any sign of deference. Instead he looked him in the eye, practically challenging Iroh's honor. "I do not know, General Iroh. All I know is that you are to come with me."

Iroh wrestled with his temper for a long, silent second. He knew perfectly well that his brother had sent a soldier to make sure that he didn't refuse and just walk away. Iroh was sorely tempted to do just that, and let the soldier suffer the consequences of trying to force him into anything, but the boy didn't deserve it - lack of respect or not. "Fine," he finally snapped. "Take me to dinner. But don't you dare think to follow me afterwards. You will regret it."

Iroh could imagine the soldier's hooded eyes widening. "Of course, General. I understand."

Iroh almost smiled, despite his rage with the young Imperial Guard and even more so with his brother. For the first time in the conversation, there was some respect in the title once more.

* * *

Zuko was not present at dinner. Iroh couldn't be surprised - he had trained the boy hard and it was late. Zuko had probably had his meal brought to him.

Iroh ate as much as he could stomach under the circumstances - an entire cornish-quail-hen, a bowl of onion-potato soup, and a plate of fruit - and then stood and bowed to his brother. "Fire Lord Ozai, I plead your indulgence. I am not feeling well and think some fresh air would do me some good. May I be excused from your lavish table?"

His brother stared for a moment dispassionately before nodding. In a falsely warm tone, he said, "I am sorry to hear you are feeling unwell, brother. We will miss your presence."

Iroh caught the nearly silent disagreeing grunts from the men around him and smiled slightly.  _Good,_  he thought.  _If they stay here, then I might have a chance._ "Thank you, My Lord."

As he walked out of the doors of the huge dining hall, Iroh heard footsteps behind him, echoing his own. He didn't look back, knowing it would alert his follower, and instead kept walking down the hall. The white stone was gleaming in the pale moonlight, and Iroh could see his way perfectly. He stopped for several minutes to stare into nothingness, breathing deeply. Hopefully, his little shadow was only making sure that he was getting fresh air, and would leave as soon as he was under that impression.

Iroh was not so lucky.

With a sigh, Iroh kept walking, avoided the turn that would lead him to his nephew's chambers and continuing to his own. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him, putting his ear against the wood. The footsteps had stopped outside his door and appeared to be waiting - or guarding. Iroh smiled, latched the door, and went over to the wall carvings on the opposite side of the room. In one of the small rectangles, there was a pitch-black square. Iroh pressed his hand against the hole and puffed a tiny flame into its depths. The wall slid aside silently, revealing another hallway perpendicular to the main one. Iroh, grinning, strode out of his room and headed off to Zuko's, his tail remaining spectacularly clueless.

Iroh reached the room quickly and tried the handle. It was locked. Sighing, Iroh knocked.

"Prince Zuko," he whispered. "It is me."

He listened carefully for a response. The next second, he heard it. A long, shallow snore.

Iroh sighed again, and turned the corner of the hallway to the adjacent side of his nephew's room. He lifted a tapestry to discover, to his shock, that the door was unhidden. He didn't pause to think on it long, and instead pushed it open on well-oiled hinges. He tiptoed to Zuko's bedside and shook his small shoulder. "Prince Zuko," he whispered urgently.

The boy sat bolt upright and reached for the dagger resting on his nightstand, sweeping a wide arc with the blade. Iroh leapt out of the bleary-eyed prince's reach. "Zuko!" he snapped. "There is no need for that."

Zuko looked at him and seemed to shake himself awake. Recognition dawned in his eyes.

"Uncle? What are you doing h-"

"You're being set up," Iroh cut over him. He didn't want to waste time. "We need to get you out of here, now."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Zuko said, surprisingly coolly. "And no, I don't think I'll leave."

Iroh was taken aback. He was speechless for a long second, until he stepped back up to his nephew's side. "It does not matter if you know what I am talking about, Prince Zuko, because I do. Now come with me, please."

Zuko shook his head. "This scene is familiar..." he muttered to himself, his voice still hoarse with sleepiness. Iroh had no clue what he meant. Then the boy looked up at him again. "Go away, Uncle. I need sleep for tomorrow."

Iroh's temper flared. "Zuko, you don't understand. Your father is-"

"What about my father?" Zuko asked sharply.

Iroh looked into Zuko's gold eyes, curious and angry, and found that he didn't have the heart to tell him. "Your father wants you to get out of the castle before the Agni Kai tomorrow," Iroh improvised quickly.

"No, he doesn't." Zuko said with a sad certainty. "He's probably hoping that I die in it. It would solve all his problems," he added bitterly.

Iroh ignored the thought that Zuko was most likely right and grabbed his arm. "Don't talk like that about your father," he said. "It is disrespectful. Your father loves you, and wants to see you safe. Now come." He pulled the boy as he said the last two words.

Zuko finally complied, letting himself be dragged out of bed. Iroh let go of his arm and propelled him towards the chest at the end of his bed. "Get out travelling clothes," he commanded him. "And shoes. Bring your knife as wel-"

There came a knock at the door. Iroh and Zuko froze and stared at each other. Then they both made a step towards the door.

"Go back to bed, Prince Zuko," Iroh hissed.

Zuko shook his head. "Nobody knows you're here. Hide over there and I'll answer whoever it is."

Iroh hesitated, opening his mouth to argue, but he knew that Zuko was right. If anyone found out that the person sent to follow him was guarding an empty room, there would be consequences for Iroh. He nodded, and stood in the shadowed corner that Zuko had pointed to. "Zuko," he said, "don't let them in. Speak with them if you must, but keep it short."

Zuko nodded, his face solemn. He took a deep breath, seeming to steel his nerves, then walked to the door and unlocked it. He twisted the handle gently, and pulled it open. Iroh watched as the expression on his face changed, and he knew who it was before he heard the all-too-familiar silky voice.

"Hello, Prince Zuko," Ozai purred.

"Father," Zuko choked out. He bowed low. "What do you need, my Lord?"

"Who were you talking to?" he asked smoothly.

"Talking?" Zuko said, with barely a pause. "Must have been sleep-talk."

"Really?" Ozai said, the skepticism obvious in his voice. "Won't you let me in, Zuko?"

Zuko stared at where Iroh supposed was Ozai's face as steadily as the young boy could. He bowed again. "I'm sorry, Father. I was sleeping. I'm afraid that I am very tired, and I was resting for the match tomorrow."

"I see," the Fire Lord said, sounding slightly annoyed. "Well, Prince Zuko... I will see you tomorrow, then. I hope you are well rested." Iroh could practically see the sneer on his brother's face.

"Thank you, Father." Zuko bowed once more as Iroh heard Ozai's footsteps retreat down the hall, and then the boy closed the door. He took a deep breath, and then walked to his bed and sat on the edge, shaking a little. Iroh went up to him.

"That was very brave of you, Prince Zuko," he said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I thought you always said it was dishonest to lie to your father," the boy said.

"I suppose this was an exception," Iroh told him gently.

"You only say that because you lied to me."

Iroh started. "What?"

"You said that my Father wanted me to get out. Why would he come and tell me that he would see me tomorrow, rested up for the Agni Kai, if he didn't want me to be there?" Zuko stared at his hands for a distraction.

Iroh cursed Ozai silently. "Alright, Prince Zuko, but when I mentioned your father earlier I was trying to tell yo-"

"I don't want any more lies," they boy told him bitterly. "In fact, I was telling Father the truth - which is more than you did for me. I was sleeping, and I will need that sleep for tomorrow. Now if you would leave me to it, Uncle," Zuko laid down and pulled the covers over his body, "I would greatly appreciate it." His stiff, formal language made it seem like he was addressing Ozai - a tone Iroh had never expected to be directed at him.

He couldn't think of anything to say. Finally, he sighed. "I just wanted to warn you..."

Zuko glared at him. Iroh raised an eyebrow, his temper finally getting the better of him. "I suppose one such as you needs no warnings," he said. "Goodnight then, Prince Zuko."

Despite his hot words, Iroh left Zuko's room with a heavy heart. Nothing was simple anymore.

* * *

Fanfare played as Zuko strode out onto the field. His heart was racing, and as he heard the cheers of the people gathered in the stand he didn't do anything more than turn and nod his head. Besides, he told himself, they were only here to watch a good fight. Whether he won or lost meant nothing to them.

Except for one. Zuko searched the crowd, fighting a growing sense of panic. Where was he? Then he caught his Uncle's face, his eyes wide with fear, and his skin a strange grayish color. Zuko held his eyes for a long second, pouring all of his regret for his hot words the last night into that look. If he died, after all, he wouldn't want them to be his last. Iroh seemed to understand. He nodded and gave him a half smile that Zuko guessed was supposed to be comforting.

Sitting next to his Uncle was his sister. Almost hesitantly, Zuko met her eyes as well. He had expected the same sort of fear for him that he had seen in Iroh's eyes, but Azula's seemed to be strangely light, the gold shimmering and dancing. She raised a thin eyebrow at him, and curled one side of her lip. Zuko could practically hear her high, singsong voice taunting him,  _I know something you don't!_

Discomforted, he looked for one more face.  **Where was his father?**

After seconds of searching, he took a deep breath. It didn't matter. Zuko was going to win, no matter what, and his father would hear about it one way or another. He took another deep breath to calm himself and knelt down on the dusty compacted earth of the arena, facing the direction he had entered.

Fanfare played as the General stepped onto the field. He heard stifled gasps from the stands, and Zuko knew that they were probably shocked at who the Crown Prince would be going up against. Perhaps they were surprised that the match would not be as good a one as they hoped. Zuko smiled secretly.

 _Focus._ A voice from deep within him welled up.  _You must flow between your movements, as fluidly as a dragon flying through crystalline skies._

The image of a dragon was encouraging to the boy. It was certainly better than his tutor's words reverberating through his head whenever he used the special style, saying that he looked like a waterbender. A dragon was strong, and brave, and most importantly, never lost.

A gong sounded. Zuko took one last breath as he stood and turned in one fluid movement, letting the decorative stole across his shoulders flutter to the ground at the movement. At first, all he saw was the blur as his opponent did the same. Then he recognized the face staring across at him with a dark smile, and his legs gave out.

* * *

"No, Prince Zuko!" Iroh cried. "You're only chance is to fight him!"

But to his horror, Iroh's young nephew pushed his strong young arms against the ground to brace himself, his head bowed. "Please, Father, I only had the Fire Nation's best interest at heart! I'm sorry I spoke out of turn!" He wouldn't look at the towering figure's eyes.

"Look at the weakling," the man next to him muttered, and Iroh turned to see the new Captain Zhao staring at the scene before him with relish. Iroh was at a loss for words at the man's grin. He turned back to Zuko numbly.

"Come now, nephew, stand and fight!" he muttered under his breath.

"You will fight for your honor," Ozai growled, advancing on his son, oddly echoing Iroh.

"For Agni's sake, boy, do what he says!" Came the distressed voice of a woman behind him. Iroh didn't turn to see who it was – he couldn't look away, even as Zuko lowered himself further.

"I meant you no disrespect. I am your loyal son!"

"Rise and fight, Prince Zuko," the Fire Lord ordered, without a scrap of mercy in his voice.

There was a moment of silence when Iroh's hope swelled, thinking that just maybe, Zuko might do as his father demanded. Then, he heard his nephew croak, "I won't fight you."

Iroh watched in horror as the expression on Ozai's face changed from contempt to grim happiness. "Then you will learn respect, and suffering will be your teacher."

He took a step back, lighting his fists with flame. Zuko looked up at the movement. Iroh looked away, wishing with every fiber of his being to jump up and save the boy. But Iroh knew well what the consequences for that action would be. The people would only interpret it as a fight for the crown, and Iroh would not have that. Much as he wanted to protect Zuko, if what he said about acting for the Fire Nation was true, he would understand.

Iroh tried to convince himself of this as he listened to the inhuman scream.

* * *

Zuko felt the sudden heat as his father lit flames on his fists. Zuko looked up, hoping that he was hallucinating the sense, to see that Ozai had stepped back and was in his stance, one fist pointed straight at his face. The flames were already moving towards him. Zuko knew he had no chance of moving out of their way.

Then, an odd force within him took over, tugging him to the side. Zuko threw himself out of the way, but he still wasn't quick enough. He felt as the fire connected with the side of his face, feeling as though he had been struck with lightning. He saw bright flashes of lights dance before his eyes and felt unbearable pain as the flames stuck to his eyebrows and smoldered.

He heard someone screaming, vaguely recognizing the voice as his own.

Then it was over.

* * *

Iroh made himself stay in his seat until the shrieking ended. But the moment it died away, he ignored the sobs and shocked silence of the others in the crowd and vaulted himself over the bar separating the arena from the stands. He made to pick up his nephew, but involuntarily took a step back at the sight of the crumpled body lying at his brother's feet.

 _Oh, Agni, oh, sweet Tui and La…._ His nephew was dead. He knew it. No one could survive that kind of a burn. Crawling Koh, it covered half the boy's face!

But no, he was alive; Iroh felt it, like a tiny heartbeat. The small, pulsing energy that was Zuko's spirit. But there was something wrong, he could tell. The mass of chi at the base of his neck seemed weaker, its rhythm feeble.

Iroh redoubled his step, reaching Zuko's tiny form in a few steps. He paused, giving his brother a hard look. Ozai took a step back, a flicker of fear in his eyes. Iroh glared at him for another second, voicing the warning in his eyes.

_If he does not survive, neither will you._

Then he ignored Ozai, squatting to gently lift Zuko into his arms. He didn't look at anyone as he strode out of the arena, hurrying to the palace infirmary. He meant the threat, and not just towards the Fire Lord. It applied to anyone who tried to stop him from saving his nephew.

The infirmary had been prepared for one or the other of the fighters - though, so had the funeral burners. When the nurses saw who it was been carried in Iroh's arms, they tutted quietly, ushering him to a bed.

"Lay him here," one told him, her usually soft eyes turning hard with determination. "Gently now, there you are..." After Iroh had delicately lowered Zuko onto the cot, he found himself pushed into a chair by the girl's small hands. "Stay here," she ordered, and hurried away. Iroh couldn't think of doing anything else; a sensation of numbness was sinking into his limbs and his mind.

He shook himself awake. The nurses were capable of taking care of Zuko's physical needs, if they could be taken care of. He had matters of the spirit to look after. Iroh looked to make sure that the nurses were out of the room before leaning over the small body laid out on the bed. He pressed the fingertips of one hand on the boy's forehead, the other on his chest. Then, Iroh closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

_Open._

The doors to Zuko's spirit swung open, admitting Iroh into the most vulnerable place in any human. Iroh was startled to see a man in the blank blackness, dressed in the old Imperial style, with the fire crown pressed into his graying topknot. Iroh recognized the face instantly.

"Avatar Roku."

"General Iroh."

They regarded each other for a long second. Iroh noticed that Roku seemed to be fading, growing more and more transparent by the second. "Going somewhere, are you?"

Roku smoothly avoided the question. "It's been a long time, Iroh. I must say, you don't seem terribly surprised."

"Ursa was always a good guesser," he responded wryly. "But that's not the point. My nephew needs your strength."

"And as much as I desire to stay and give it, I cannot," Roku told him, sounding genuinely sorry. "Iroh, you don't understand. What you witnessed was not merely a flesh-and-blood wounding. And what you see here, is fast becoming nothing more than a memory. The Prince's father used  _alma tulekahju -_ Soulfire."

"Impossible," Iroh scoffed. "Only those that have been to the spirit world know that technique."

Roku inclined his head. There was a pause.

"What?" Iroh spluttered. "He hasn't..." Then he realized. Roku had managed to get him off topic again. He would think on this new information later. "But... but you can't be saying that Zuko's soul is actually-"

"Torn apart," Roku finished, nodding mournfully. He was practically invisible, like a whisp of mist or steam in the darkness. "Pieces are missing, but he may live. Unfortunately, one such piece was his spiritual center, where the Avatars make their home. I must leave now, Iroh, and I'm afraid that as long as the boy's soul is missing, I can neither come back, nor should I. No  _mõistatus_  has ever nor will ever make a suitable Avatar. I'm sorry, Iroh. I hope the boy lives, for both of your sakes." He smiled sadly. "Wish me luck."

"What?" Iroh asked hopelessly.

"Kyoshi," Roku muttered. With that, his small light flickered out, leaving the disgraced General Iroh standing alone in his nephew's spirit, very confused.

* * *

He awoke to the sensation of weight on his left side, yet an odd sort of emptiness. There were bandages pressed against his eye, but deep inside, it was like a hole had been torn through him. He felt very alone, and in so much pain that he didn't want to move.

"Are you awake, Zuko?" a quiet, strained voice asked him. Zuko tried to open his eyes, instead finding that they wouldn't move. "Don't worry yourself over that," Uncle's voice said, sounding despondent. "They will open eventually. I'm just glad you're alive."

"I feel like... like a herd of komodo-rhinos ran over me."

"I'm sure you do," Iroh said, sounding unusually unsympathetic.

"... Where am I?"

"The infirmary," Iroh replied heavily.

"How long?" Zuko whispered.

"A few days."

"And... I can leave soon?" Zuko wasn't sure if he wanted to leave. He couldn't imagine being blind, walking around the palace. He didn't think he wanted to be awake when every second was such excruciating pain. But he had to ask - it seemed like a manly thing to do.

"Unfortunately, yes. We will be leaving soon." Something in his tone put Zuko on edge.

"We, Uncle?" Zuko suddenly stiffened. "You didn't fight him, did you?"  _You can't be hurt..._

"No, Prince Zuko," Iroh sighed. Zuko let out the breath he had been holding in relief. "I say 'we' because... well, I have bad news for you, nephew."

Zuko grimaced. "More?"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this now, but I have no choice." Even despite his apparent resolve, Iroh faltered over the words for a moment. "You have been banished."

Zuko had thought that he couldn't feel anything more painful than what he was currently experiencing - his whole head ached, and his neck was having shooting pains originating from it's base for some odd reason - but this was different. It was like someone had punched him hard in the gut, or slipped a knife between his ribs.

It was several long seconds before he could manage to talk. "Why?" He asked, but he already knew. If he couldn't kill his useless son honorably, Ozai would have to send him as far away as possible.

"He says that your refusal to fight was dishonorable, and as such, you are unworthy to be known as his heir." Iroh sounded coldly furious. "He has sent you on a mission to capture the Avatar."

"What?" Zuko gasped. He was thirteen - how did his father expect him to capture a master bender that had eluded the entire Fire Nation for a century?

"Don't worry too much about that, Prince Zuko," Iroh said, his voice changing into something slightly like smugness. "You will find him, I am certain of it. After all, your honor is very important to you." Zuko felt a light touch on his arm. "And, you'll have me with you."

"Thank you, Uncle," Zuko whispered, his hand reaching up to probe at the bandage around his eye. "How long until...?"

"A few days for the right one," Iroh answered briskly. "The left will take longer. You will have to ask the nurse for the exact time. Now I'm sorry, Prince Zuko, but I have things that I need to attend to." Zuko heard the scraping of a chair on tile as Iroh stood. "We will leave in two days, my nephew. I will come and visit you again."

As Zuko listened to the retreating footsteps, he sank into his pillow, feeling lost and very alone - and he had the oddest feeling that it wasn't because his Uncle had left him and his father forsaken him.

* * *

Zuko's right eye was open as they walked down the street towards the port - and Iroh made sure that he stayed on this side, where his nephew could see him. His left was still heavily bandaged, but the young Prince held his head high as he walked, not afraid to meet anyone's eyes as he strode towards his ship. Well, ex-Prince, Iroh reminded himself.

Zuko insisted on inspecting his ship, then he asked Iroh to call the crew on board. As they were assembling, Zuko leaned over without taking his eyes off them, and asked quietly, "Do they know about the terms of this trip?"

Iroh almost sighed. Zuko had been brave, and had accepted his banishment with Princely dignity. But he also had an air of Princely detachment, his tone constantly chilly. Iroh stopped himself in time. Zuko was entitled to any coping mechanism he wished, after what he had been through. "No, they have not been told. All they know is what we are searching for."

Zuko nodded. "Good." He took a step forward and addressed the crew. "I am the commander of this ship," he told them, his eyes scrolling down the line as he looked at each of them in turn. "And as such, I expect no problems out of any of you. If you think I don't know some of your records, you're wrong. If you think you can get away with any unruly actions, you're  _dead_  wrong. Do I make myself clear?"

Iroh had to hand it to the boy - first few minutes on the ship, and already preventing problems. Even if he did it with the typical teenage lack of tact.

"Good," Zuko said briskly. "I'm glad we have that understood. We depart in ten minutes. Dismissed." With that, he stalked away to the edge of the ship, gripping the railing so hard that his knuckles turned white. Iroh walked over to join him.

"Prince Zuko," he said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "You dealt with that very maturely."

"Do you think I seemed intimidating for someone with a bandage over half their face?" he asked bitterly.

Iroh tried to laugh. "You were very formidable, my nephew. Tell me, is there something you would like to see, before we go? Somewhere in the capital?" He didn't voice the unspoken words,  _You won't ever see them again._

Zuko half turned towards him. "See?" He laughed darkly. "Not, I don't want to  _see_  anything."

As Zuko turned to lock himself into his cabin, he hesitated. He raised one hand to someone on the dock, and then left, stalking below deck. Iroh looked out to see who it was he had waved to. He was surprised to see Azula standing on the end of the dock, hands clasped behind her back, a small smile on her face.

When Iroh met her eyes, the smile widened. She looked smugly victorious. He hesitantly raised a hand to her, as Zuko had done. She just nodded and turned around, striding to the end of the dock where the palaquin was waiting for her.

Iroh, disconcerted, went to join Zuko in his room. He wanted to be with him when they left the Fire Nation's shores for the last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some explanations:
> 
> alma = soul, in Galicain
> 
> tulekahju = fire, in Estonian
> 
> mõistatus = puzzle, in Estonian (which I chose because they are like puzzles with peices missing)
> 
> Okay. So the basic idea is that Ozai used an ancient technique known as Soulfire, which is fire that is not as physically scarring as some fire (think about it, Zuko should have died) but scars the soul of its target. It looks like normal fire, though, so witnesses can't tell the difference. So it literally rips pieces off of the soul and attaches them to objects, people, and sometimes spirits nearby. The piece of Zuko's soul that was home to the Avatars was torn off, but Roku managed to make it attach to him.
> 
> Iroh has been to the spirit world, and therefore he can see spirits (remember, he saw Roku and Aang's spirits on the day of the first eclipse). He can see the concentration of chi in people, and he could see that Zuko's was definately not normal. He also thinks that the OWL aided Ursa in her escape, but he has no proof, and whatever he doesn't know for sure bothers him, so he's very uncomfortable with her disappearance.
> 
> And I have heard that Azula apparently aided Zuko in getting his ship and crew, but I haven't seen any proof of this. In II, Ozai wanted to make Zuko's journey as miserable as possible, so he hired delinquents for his crew members. Iroh found out, though, and decided to hire his own "captain," Lieutenant Jee, who is hinted to have served under Iroh when the General wasn't retired.
> 
> So. There you are. Please, please, please review!


	8. At Sea

Iroh found Zuko in his quarters, sitting on the edge of his shadowed bed. The room was dark, but Iroh could see that the bed was one of the very few things in the sparsely furnished room. The only other furniture was a small, black wooden chest and a tapestry of the Fire Nation symbol, handing like a reminder on the cold metal wall. A few small candles sat on the chest, unlit.

As Iroh opened the door, a beam of sunlight fell through from the hallway and descended, coincidentally, on Zuko's face. Instinctively, the boy lifted his hand and peered at the intruder.

"Uncle," he breathed in relief, as he recognized the wide girth. "Will you… join me?"

Iroh smiled slightly. It was the most emotion Zuko had shown since he had found out about his banishment. "It would be an honor, Prince Zuko." He walked into the room, closing the door behind him, and made straight for the five tiny white candles. He pinched their wicks until identical small flames licked the top of the waxed strings tamely.

"I preferred the dark," Zuko muttered sullenly.

"Come now," Iroh coaxed, sitting on the bed next to him. "Wouldn't you rather be up on deck, feeling the cool sea breeze blow your air, and smelling the scent of salty air, and-"

"And watching my country fade into the distance behind me? I think not, Uncle."

Suddenly, there came a knock on the door, and a marine opened it, dropping to one knee. Light streamed in behind him, silhouetting his form against the sunlit hallway. "General, Sir," he said, nodding to each of them in turn. Iroh looked to Zuko, waving his hand to show that he was in charge. Zuko nodded.

"What is it?" he asked, in his most imperial tone, standing and walking over to the marine. He looked down on him, his hands clasped behind his straight back.

"There is a girl demanding to see you, Sir. She says she'll jump on the ship if you don't come out and speak with her." The marine sounded slightly panicked, as if the girl had frightened him, and the idea of her on board was even more fearful.

"Didn't you tell her we were leaving soon?"

"Well, of course, Sir, but she said it didn't matter to her. She said it would be your fault if she was dragged into…." He stopped uncomfortably.

Zuko narrowed the eye not smothered under thick white cloth, but after a moment snorted derisively. "What did she tell you?" he asked rhetorically. "Don't listen to a thing she says - she's crazy." He pushed past the man, barely a few years older than he, and stalked up the stairs.

"Then you know her?" the marine asked him in a relieved tone, craning his head to watch Zuko's back.

"Don't need to," Zuko called from the deck. "All girls are."

Iroh stood carefully, and crossed the room in a few silent steps. He touched the marine's shoulder, causing him to jump and face him. "Hajime. Between you and me, was this girl the princess?"

The boy's brow furrowed in thought. "I've never seen the princess in person, Sir, but from the pictures I have seen… I don't think so."

"Hmm. Very well, dismissed."

The marine stood and was halfway back up the hallway when he stopped, freezing in the half light. "Oh, right," he muttered under his breath, turning around again. He saluted Iroh, who was leaning against the door frame of Zuko's room in amusement. "Sorry, Sir," he said with a small smile, before continuing to the deck.

"Of course." Iroh said after him, barely managing to stifle his laugh. When the boy was gone, Iroh allowed himself a small chuckle. "Hajime. Discharged for disrespect." He shook his head. "What is the military coming to these days?" Iroh followed him down the hallway and up the stairs, still laughing. Iroh turned back to the room, snuffing the candles with a small movement of his hand, before stepping into the hallway and closing the door. He had to see just who it was that was so desperate to speak with Zuko, if not his deranged sister.

As his head emerged into the heavily-scented air of the port, he amended his statement, resisting the urge to duck below deck once more. For his nephew wasn't actually  _speaking_  to anyone. But he had been trained to have an uncrackable street face, which Iroh put on as he set his booted feet on the deck and walked to the starboard side to observe his nephew across the ship. He had recognized her instantly.

As the pretty girl slapped the good side of his face, Iroh winced. The girl, apparently, had no concept of the amount of pain Zuko was experiencing. That, or she just didn't care. She was shouting something that he couldn't understand over the wind, so he nonchalantly inched closer to satisfy his curiosity.

"… go away and leave, with nothing more than a  _letter?_  An Agni burn it  _letter!_? I thought you cared about me, Zuko, but I guess I was wrong. No one who actually gave a damn for my feelings would ever do such a thing!"

"It was for your own good," Zuko spoke up quietly, not turning his head after the girl's hand had snapped it sideways. All she could see that way was the unscarred side of his face, where pain shimmered unspoken in his eye. "I swear, Mai, I was only thinking of your safety. You know what people would think if they saw you here on this shi-"

"You think I care about what people think?" the girl asked indignantly. "Of course I don't."

"Well I do," Zuko snapped, finally gathering the courage to look her in the eye.

Zuko realized his mistake when they girl pushed one foot back into a fighting stance, a small knife slipping out of her sleeve as her light golden eyes flashed dangerously. "Of course," she snarled. "I'm just a lowly noble. You wouldn't want to be seen with me, would you? You have to find some pretty princess to fall in love with, is that it?"

Zuko glanced around, as if worried that the crew might here of his affection for the girl. Iroh was almost amused – but couldn't bring himself to be when he realized the predicament his nephew had been in with the girl. Leaving her only a letter would break her heart, but it would ensure her safety from the people that wanted all Zuko's influence purged from the city. Meeting her in person was more satisfying, but much more dangerous.

Iroh watched in sympathy, wondering how Zuko had gone and fallen in love without him knowing about it.

"Of course not, Mai," Zuko hissed under his breath, his hands grabbing the girl's shoulders. "You can't get any lower than a banished Prince. Don't you see? I don't want  _you_ to be seen with  _me_!" He straightened with a sigh. "I don't want to go through all the work to capture the Avatar and bring him home to find that you've been killed because of me, that's all."

"That's all?" Mai whispered, her temper seeming to leak out of her. The knife in her hand disappeared, and Iroh found himself wondering just where it went in that voluminous sleeve. "You're really going to try and do it aren't you?" She sounded hopeless.

Zuko nodded. "I must restore my honor, Mai, if I'm ever to marry you."

There was a moment of silence. The girl hung her head and let her other foot drag along the deck to stand beside her first, dark bangs swishing over her eyes. She was tall for her age, almost as tall as Zuko, and her form held few womanly curves. But Iroh could see why Zuko found her pretty – clear pale skin, Fire Nation eyes, and the dangerous temper to match. Though where the temper had gone in the girl that looked so downtrodden, he couldn't tell.

"Well," she said, her voice so low that Iroh had to inch closer to pick up her words. "I don't want to go through all the trouble to get you to notice me to have your ship come back and tell me you've been killed because of some stupid mission, that's all."

"That's all?" Zuko asked, slipping closer to the girl. He put a hesitant hand on her arm, his angular face staring into hers with a desire to be understood, and a tenderness Iroh hadn't seen there before.

"Sure. That's all." The girl seemed to sniffle, but when she lifted her head again, her eyes were dry. She stood on tiptoes to whisper in Zuko's unbandaged ear. Iroh wished he could hear what she said, because Zuko actually smiled. He whispered something back. Then, in a flurry so fast he almost missed it, the girl kissed his nephew, turned and ran from the deck, jumping on the railing and leaping towards the dock, spinning to speed her descent. She landed, miraculously, on her feet. She cast one backwards glance towards the ship, raising her small hand in farewell, and took off running again.

"Ty Lee says goodbye," she called back to them without looking. "But Azula said she couldn't come…." He voice faded away as she rounded the corner of the Customs building and dashed towards the Palace. Zuko watched her progress, his face warring between euphoria and depression. Iroh came up behind him and cleared his throat. Zuko jumped guiltily.

"Uncle." His voice cracked. "Umm, what are you… well-"

"Pretty girl," Iroh commented, laying a huge hand on Zuko's shoulder. "Now what did I hear about marriage?"

"It's none of your concern," Zuko said quickly. Then, casting a regretful glance at his Uncle, he added, "I don't want her getting in trouble."

"Of course not. We all want to protect those we love," Iroh agreed.

"Love," the boy muttered, a shadow crossing over his face for a second. "Azula probably ordered her not to come, just like Ty Lee. I hope she doesn't hurt her." He looked around the deck guiltily and cleared his throat. "Were… were you the only one that saw?"

Iroh chuckled. "I believe the helmsman may have gotten a bit of a show, but as for everyone else-"

"Then I'm talking to the helmsman," Zuko said with resolve. "Uncle, please tell the captain that the time for our departure has come. Set a course for…" he faltered, but quickly made up his mind, "for the Southern Air Temple. It was the last place the Avatar was known to be."

"And we will be stopping along the way, along the Earth Kingdom coast?" Iroh suggested. "To make sure that the Avatar is not in hiding?"

"Yes." Zuko had his back turned and was striding commandingly towards the helm, where one of the crew leaned against the rail trying to look innocent.

Iroh stroked his beard as he watched him go. Zuko seemed to be drawn towards the Southern Air Temple – which meant that the Avatar was probably somewhere nearby, or at least Roku's spirit. Iroh was inclined to head straight there and quickly end Zuko's banishment… if his Firebending was still a match for the Avatar's. But the Fire Nation was probably keeping track of their progress, and would want to know why they set such a destination without any pretense of searching. Iroh did not want his dear homeland and the even dearer man running it to get any ideas. So search they would, if fruitlessly.

* * *

As dusk settled over the stern of the boat, Zuko looked to the northwest with a heavy sigh. The sun glinted in his eyes, but he couldn't look away, even as they started to sting from the light. That was where his nation was. The nation he had to leave behind was somewhere across the vast ocean, somewhere under the sun's narrow red-tinted rays.

His eyes started to water. Finally, he looked away. That sun-bathed country would be his once more. All he had to do was capture the Avatar.

He smirked, clenching his hands into determined fists. An easy enough task, all considered, he told himself. The Avatar was only the master of all elements, who evaded the Fire Nation for a hundred years spent mastering bending. No problem. Not for the best breather in the world.

* * *

"Prince Zuko, you should be in bed."

Zuko didn't turn to the voice. He sat on the deck, letting his legs hang over the side of the ship. He gripped the taffrail over his head so hard that his knuckles turned white, but it was the only sign that he was not relaxed. He stared out into the sea, watching the moon cast the crest of the gentle waves in a pearly glow before they smashed into the dark areas of the water once more. The ocean flickered with the constant change from lit wave to darkness to platinum again. It was a long ways to the water if he were to fall, but Zuko had never been one to shy away from heights. The roofs used to be his favorite hideaway from Azula – along with the animals that learned to wait for him to sneak up with stolen food and share it with them. Zuko sighed.

"Why do you call me that, Uncle? I'm not a Prince anymore."

"You will always be a Prince," Iroh argued, leaning his back against the railing next to him. He tilted his head up towards the stars. "That doesn't change because of where you are."

"It changes because of what the Fire Lord says," Zuko countered. He felt childish swinging his booted legs in the empty air, but didn't feel like rising.

"No. It only changes if  _you_ allow it to," Iroh said passionately, craning his head farther to see the starlit horizon behind him.

"A good sentiment," Zuko said wryly, ignoring his Uncle's contortionism. "But not practical."

"I'm not joking, Prince Zuko."

"Neither am I."

"Good. Than we can, in utter severity, go to bed?"

Zuko turned his head to look at the man standing next to him. Iroh averted his gaze from the heavens to smile down at his nephew. Zuko couldn't help it; he smiled too.

"Yes, Uncle. Of course." He stood and let Uncle lead him below deck towards his quarters. "But only because we have an early start and much work to do tomorrow," he added, trying to sound mature, and like he actually knew what he was doing. He knew that if that was really the case he would know why he was searching the Southern Air Temple, as though sure the Avatar was there. Half his face wouldn't be a charred mess. Mai wouldn't have put herself in danger. He would have earned his Father's love long ago. Since none of those things were, Zuko thought it was obvious that he had no clue what he was doing. That didn't mean that he wouldn't pretend otherwise like his life depended on it.

"I didn't imagine anything else," Iroh chuckled. "There is always a reason for going to bed. Good night, Prince Zuko." He turned into the hallway leading to his own room, but Zuko heard him hesitate in the lantern-light, waiting hopefully.

"… I suppose it wasn't a bad one," Zuko said, but not sarcastically. He slammed his door, and like every night since that fateful one three years ago, locked it. He leaned against the metal, and slowly let out a deep breath. He was halfway through it - his first night at sea. He might be able to sleep through the rest; he had always been comfortable when Lu Ten had taken him out for a short voyage between islands. Still, that had been years ago, and the journey had been for no other reason than pleasure. Not to mention that Lu Ten had been alive back then. Sleeping in those days had seemed much easier. Zuko had few hopes for the prospect of obtaining any meaningful slumber, but he walked slowly to the foot of his cot anyway, carefully untying his breast plate. He pushed the unlit candles to one side of the chest and set it on the other. It looked out of place, the red armor gleaming dully on the wood. Zuko looked around his small room, his night vision exceptional.

"I need to put some things in here," he muttered to himself. "This emptiness is freaking me out."

He fell to the bed with a grunt, not bothering to undress further, convinced as he was that there was no way he would get to sleep. But before long, the gentle rocking of the waves and the sound of the water lapping at the ship outside lulled him to sleep, his heavy eyes closing wearily, and he started snoring quietly. His first night in banishment was spent much the same as any other night that he had spent tucked into his plush bed in the palace, as Zuko slept lightly but fitfully with a weapon close at hand. It was what awoke him, fewer than a handful of hours later, that was different.

The sound of gently cooing crow-gulls, the scent of day-old fish and salty air, and the shouts of hundreds of sailors leaving the dock for the morning catch. Zuko sat up, befuddled for a moment about where he was. When he remembered, he stifled his sigh and rose, dressing quickly, rubbing grit and sleep from his eyes. He ignored Iroh's room, as he could still hear his loud snores resonating through the door. Instead, he strode up the stairs and above deck, to where his crew members were bustling around like those on the other ships. The ship yard reminded him of a bumble-ant hill, all its members scurrying around like the day would be their last and they had their whole lives to take care of. Except, half of the other ships were glaring at theirs with hatred, and the other half with disdain.

"Captain," Zuko called to the man supervising the scene. The middle-aged man turned as Zuko approached, his hands set on his hips. He stopped shouting out orders to the men, who carried on as though they didn't notice. "We have made it to one of the Occupied ports, I take it?" Zuko tried to keep the dry humor out of his voice, since from the looks they were getting it was obvious. The Fire Nation Occupation hated them for intruding on what they considered  _their_  port – and the Earth Kingdom hated all the ships that docked flying the red flag.

"Yes Sir," the surprisingly smooth voice of Lieutenant Jee answered him. "We are in Ginteng." He smirked a little. "Hence the stares we have been on the receiving end of all morning."

Zuko grunted. "Prepare to depart as soon as possible, Captain. I will not endure such disrespect."

Jee turned to him in confusion. "But Sir, no disrespect intended, but don't you mean to go ashore with your Uncle and search for-"

Zuko raised his hand, stopping the Lieutenant mid-sentence. Zuko glared at him as best he could with one eye. "I order you not to mention that name when at port, Captain. Any Fire Nation man looking for my father's favor, or an Earth Kingdom man looking for a weapon to destroy us, will jump on that name like a starving crowcat on a carcass. I will not have competition on my search. Understood?"

Jee's eyes widened even farther, in either surprise or guilt, but he sketched a bow to hide it. "Of course, Sir. Please forgive me."

Zuko said nothing for a moment, giving him a sidelong glance. Eventually he drew himself up to his full height and nodded. "I will not be going ashore. The Avatar would have to be monumentally stupid to stay here, so there is no point in searching for him." He turned his back and stalked abaft. He paused and called over his shoulder, "As I ordered, Captain. We depart in ten minutes, no later."

"Yes, Sir."

"And wake my Uncle. I wish to spar, and he will be here to supervise. Gather two marines for me to compete with and send them to the stern."

"Yes, Sir."

"And, tell the cooks to prepare my breakfast. I will eat in my room when I have finished."

"Yes, Sir."

"And Captain?"

He smiled a little as he heard the breath of a sigh behind him, most likely the tip of a much larger one barely suppressed in time. "Yes Sir?"

Zuko's smile widened. His exasperation was so amusing. Zuko couldn't help but tease him. "Good morning," he said smoothly.

There was a heavy silence for the duration of a long moment. Then Zuko heard another breath, more akin to a laugh then a sigh. "Good morning, Sir."

Zuko walked away. He would change the bandage over his eye before training with the Marines, and then tell the helmsman which port they would head into that night. That way, he told himself, he wouldn't have to stand on the deck and be glared at by people that didn't know him. By the time he emerged again, they would be out on the open sea once more.

* * *

"How did training go today, Sir?"

"Shut up, Izo." Zuko's tone was irritated, but his lips twitched with the hint of a smile. He lounged in one of the uncomfortable metal chairs in the wheelhouse in a rather un-Princely manner, a small tin cup held loosely in one hand, its contents threatening to spill. Uncle was sitting at the Pai Sho table a few feet away, grinning madly as the cook eyed the board suspiciously. Zuko had his back to him, staring at the huge world map hanging on the wall in front of him. He saw out of the corner of his good eye – positioned for that very reason –as the helmsman smiled broadly and devoid of malice, as he usually did. Zuko had given him all the answer he needed.

"Of course, Sir. My apologies."

"How goes our progress?" Zuko asked, not taking his eyes away from the map. There were tiny black spots burned into it all along the middle part of the Eastern Coast of the Earth Kingdom, where there used to be the names of port cities carefully embroidered onto the silk. Zuko stared at their next destination wearily before raising the cup to his lips and swigging down a gulp of the tea like it was something much stronger. He would appreciate something stronger, Zuko thought bitterly.

"It goes well, Sir. We are making good time. I expect to reach Tin Lao midday tomorrow."

Zuko chewed on this information silently. "Cut our speed in half. I wish to land in the evening."

Izo tutted quietly. "The groundage will be double, Sir."

"Don't comment, just do as you're told," Zuko said, but not as ferociously as he had meant to. Izo nodded, and clearly said the orders through the metal microphone that carried them below deck to the coal room. Zuko heard the mumbling assent of the men burning the fuel in a tone similar to relief, though from his distance he could be mistaken. He let his smile break through the tiniest bit.

"They thank you, Sir," Izo said with a warm chuckle. His young face was tanned from years at sea and the skin around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. Zuko, having read his whole crew's records, couldn't help but shake his head. He had been jailed for three days when serving in the marines for friendly fire, and been dishonorably discharged. Zuko turned in his seat, leaning one elbow against the small table and letting his tea drop the few inches to its surface, making a quiet clattering sound as metal hit metal. Izo cast him a sidelong glance, raising one eyebrow.

"What's the story, helmsman?" Zuko asked, with as much formality as he could muster sprawled as he was.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Sir." Zuko could see the man's mouth twitched as he tried to stifle his smile.

Zuko's eyes flashed with pleasure. None of the crew but Izo dared joke with him. He put on his best indignantly arrogant look. "You know perfectly well what I mean, you insubordinate fool. Friendly fire, huh?"

Iroh and the cook's building argument suddenly disintegrated, and their eyes fell on the two of them. Rather, the cook's eyes hovered between the helmsman and Zuko, whereas Iroh's fell greedily on the money on the table as he quickly pocketed the coins one by one, glancing warily at the cook once in a while. Izo turned from the wheel for a moment to stare at the audience in the room before returning his stare out to the open sea before him.

"Friendly fire," he agreed. "It was a stupid mistake, but one that I don't regret making. My triple and I were in port one night, on leave by our captain for a well-deserved night of partying." Izo laughed. "We were all young. Very young boys, really, but none of us thought of it that way."

"You're still young," the cook scoffed, a hand on his expansive stomach. Iroh nodded in agreement with a smile.

"Wait until you reach my age, boy, and you will agree," he said, his hand inching innocently away from the coin pile as the cook turned back to the table, determined to win at least one game, and oblivious to his commander's thievery. What he didn't know, that Zuko had learned long ago, was that no matter what piece he moved, no matter when, he would lose. Iroh seemed determine to keep him in the dark on that matter, because the longer he played, the more money he wagered.

"You're right of course, General. In any case, it was when we were returning to the ship late that night when it happened. None of us had the money to stay in port, not after a whole night of… well. Everything that a celebrating young man will spend his pay on. My companions and I were walking through the seedier part of town when we came across a young lady. She was dressed up like a bluebloo-" he corrected himself quickly with a glance at Zuko, "noble, and was being followed by a group of Earth Kingdom sailors. My group fell on the sailors and we soon had them running the other way.

"At first, the girl was afraid of us, seeing our red armor; but eventually she thanked us for getting rid of the men. Some of my triple wished to… take advantage of that gratitude, and I was angry and threatened them. I told them that they were only solidifying the bad name given to the Fire Navy marines in the Occupied ports, but they were single-minded. Eventually, in an attempt to protect the lady, I burned a few of them and the rest ran back to the ship and reported me to the captain. The lady feared me more than ever, for at least before, I wasn't a bender. So as she was threatening to call the city guard on me, the crew came up and knocked me out, and the next thing I knew I was chained up and sealed away in the brig.

"When I returned to the capital, they put me in jail for a few days; then, knowing that I would have no income and likely die anyway, they let me out with a dishonorable discharge." He looked at Zuko. "But I suppose you already knew that part."

Zuko was silent for a few seconds. "Then you deserved the discharge," he said, but the words fell hollow on even his ears. Izo smiled at the attempt.

"I suppose I did. So I thank you for the job, Sir. But between you, me, the cook and your Uncle – excuse me; the General – I won't be spending my pay in the ports this time."

Zuko found he couldn't smile at the man's attempt at a joke. "You're welcome." Then, as if sensing that this was against his conceited mask, he stood quickly and walked to the door. "I expect better behavior out of you, helmsman. No such mutiny will be accepted on my ship. Get back to work."

Izo turned and grinned at him for a brief moment, then spun around and went back to peering out the glass window. "Of course, Sir. My apologies."

* * *

Zuko sat on the rug in the middle of his room, surrounded by a ring of twelve candles. Meditating was proving difficult this night, and instead, he spent several long seconds examining every inch of his quarters from the vantage point on the floor. With all the various items that Iroh had bought for him at the multiple ports they had stopped in, there was hardly an empty space in the already confined area any more. Zuko found himself feeling claustrophobic, which he almost never did.

"It was a mistake to mention how empty it was in here…." Zuko muttered to himself. It was so cramped he could hardly breathe. And worse, Zuko knew he had to get rid of it soon. They were docked at the most Southern port in the Earth Kingdom that night, the last they would see of the nation for some time. The next morning, they would begin the long journey across the Subsouthern Sea from the Earth Kingdom to the Southern Air Temple, and there would be no chance to pawn the useless items from that point on. Unless, Zuko told himself, their search was unsuccessful, and they had to turn around and search another area. But for some unseeable reason, Zuko didn't feel like that would happen. The Southern Air Temple was logical, he knew; but more than that, it called to him. It was a scary thought for Zuko, who had always put stock in things he could see and touch. But if it meant a speedy end to his search for the Avatar, Zuko would listen to any strange feeling he had.

Meaning, he had to get rid of these things tonight.

Zuko sighed and rose from his position, snuffing all but one of the candles with a gentle  _down-out_  motion. He opened his well-oiled door a crack, and to his relief heard his Uncle's familiar thundering snore. He turned back to his room, swiping whatever sat on the lid of the chest to the floor and opening it silently. He pulled out a set of soft black clothes and quickly changed into the light material, feeling his muscles relax as the heavy armor was pulled off them and set on his bed. He cast his stare around again, considering. He thought he remembered… yes. There, tied around the head of a wooden figuring, was a grinning blue mask. It would do. He untied the mask, setting it on his cot beside the armor as he pulled his phoenix tail back into a lower, less distinguishable ponytail. Then he picked up the mask, thinking for only a moment before tying the ribbons on either side tightly around the girth of his skull. As a last preparation, he pulled the dao swords off his wall, where he had hung them a few days after moving his few possessions into the room. He smoothly slipped them into the sheath, and looked about once more.

 _Alright,_  he told himself, thinking hard on how to accomplish what he needed to be done.  _I need to find some pirates._

* * *

"What has happened, my nephew?" Iroh demanded. "You have been robbed!"

"I know," Zuko said sadly. "It was pirates, I'm sure of it. Only they would sneak into Prince's quarters and steal all his possessions." He looked furious for a moment. "They will pay, Uncle. Let's go after them – their ship can't be that fast."

Uncle shook his head. "I know your honor is important, Prince Zuko, but it is a slight to theirs, not yours. Your reputation would not be harmed if you didn't follow them. Besides, I don't like the looks we're getting here. I would like to be out of this port as soon as possible."

"Then let us leave and follow the thieves!" Zuko proclaimed. "They deserve to taste flames for what they have done!"

"I agree with you. But do not worry, my nephew. We will be able to buy many more things for you when we return to the Fire Nation with the Avatar as our prisoner."

Iroh thought he saw a look flicker across Zuko's face, but quick as it came is was gone. "You're right, Uncle. We should depart for the Southern Air Temple soon. It will be a long journey, and I want to get there in a few days."

Iroh nodded sagely. "I will tell the Captain." Zuko turned to leave, and his booming voice stopped him. "What I want to know is how they managed to steal all these things out from under your nose, Prince Zuko. You're a very light sleeper." It wasn't a question.

Zuko paused for a second too long. "I was in the wheelhouse with Izo. We were talking. They must have stolen onto the boat while I was there."

Iroh nodded, thinking that it was an easy enough story to check on. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Zuko clenched his hands angrily as he looked around his room, glaring at the empty space. Then he stalked out of the quarters and up the stairs, grumbling all the way. Iroh, shaking his head despairingly, was about to follow him, when he saw a thin white ribbon peaking out of the chest at the foot of his nephew's cot. Iroh paused, and glanced through the partly-open door. His nephew was nowhere in sight. Closing the door the rest of the way, Iroh moved over to the chest and lifted the lid curiously.

It was a distinctive grinning blue mask. Iroh stared at it for a long second before shaking his head, understanding dawning on him. The pirates would not have stolen all but this, and Zuko would not have taken it off the idol unless for use. Iroh tucked the ribbon inside, laying it delicately across the mask, and closed the lid of the chest with a sad chuckle. He never thought Zuko would turn to roguely behavior to deal with his banishment, when his honor meant so much to him.

But perhaps, he thought to himself as he went to give Lieutenant Jee Zuko's orders, it was just a stage he was going through.


	9. Temples

"Sir. We have arrived at the Southern Air Temple."

Zuko turned his head to see the helmsman standing in the door, his hands gripping the sides with unusual power. He rolled off his cot and onto his feet in a fluid movement. "Thank you, helmsman," he said. Then, thinking, he stared at him, his eyes narrowed slightly to see through the darkness better. "Why are you here?"

Izo looked slightly taken aback. "To tell you that we have arrived, Sir." He shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"No, no," Zuko said, waving his hand dismissively. He picked up his discarded breastplate from its perch atop his chest and struggled to put it on. "Why are  _you_  here? Shouldn't they have sent someone else to inform me?"

Suddenly, the breastplate was lifted out of his hands and settled carefully on his shoulders. Zuko froze for a moment, but gradually forced himself to relax as Izo's strong hands tied the sides of his armor. "Why do you never light any candles in your room, Sir?" he asked as he worked, squirming out of answering.

Zuko tried to sound casual. "I find the darkness conducive to meditation," he lied.

"And comforting, I should think," Izo said, surprising him with the informality and surprising accuracy of his assumption. Feeling Zuko tense, he laughed wryly. "My apologies, Sir. That was not my place."

"You seem uncomfortable today, Izo," Zuko said, deciding that if the helmsman was going to try to span the gap between them that he could make an effort himself. "What's bothering you? And why did you come when it should have been another?"

It was Izo's turn to stop. His hands paused, hovering at the sides of Zuko's armor for a moment before he dropped them to his sides. Zuko heard as he breathed out a heated sigh and stepped back, his commander's armor tied and ready. "Well, Sir," he said, in a rather stiff voice, "I wanted to be the one to tell you because…" He struggled with the words for a moment, and finally said them all in a rush, "because I knew you might never come back."

Zuko turned in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that the Avatar might be hiding in that temple, the coward," Izo spat, with unusual ferocity. "He may be a coward, and the most dishonorable man to have ever lived, but I have no doubt that he will be powerful. Perhaps too powerful even for you." The helmsman seemed to force himself to look Zuko in the eye. "I wanted to tell you, in case I never see you again, that you were a commander I have been proud to serve under. And if you don't come back, I swear, I'm going up there and fighting the bastard myself."

Zuko stood awkwardly for a moment, then patted his shoulder with a dry smile. "Think I can't handle him? Thanks for that vote of confidence, Helmsman."

Izo grinned back. "Any time, Sir."

As Zuko pushed past him and above deck, he heard Izo's voice behind him call, "You better survive, Sir. 'Cause if you don't, and you make me go after him, I'm holding you responsible for my death - which will almost definitely follow."

His tone was light, or Zuko might have hit him for making him feel guilty for something he hadn't even done. As it was, heads turned and stared, wondering how the short-tempered Prince would punish him. So he called back, "I relish the day that I'm free of you, disrespectful idiot, today or otherwise."

As Zuko stalked off the ship, Iroh trailing behind him, he heard Izo laugh.

* * *

"Wha… what is this?" Zuko's voice shook as he looked on the scene before him, trembling. Hundreds of dead bodies, some in yellow and orange robes and some in red uniforms, their only burial a few feet of snow in some places, inches in others.

"You already know the answer to that," Iroh said. His voice, in comparison, was calm. But it was low and his look was dangerous. Though his hands were tucked inside his wide sleeves, Zuko could tell that they were clasped tightly together to keep from radiating uncalled-for heat. Zuko turned back, trying to stop shaking.

"Disgusting," he murmured, fighting the urge to throw up. "All those dead bodies and nobody did a thing…."

"They wouldn't even bury our own people," Iroh agreed angrily. "The savages."

"Let's do it."

"What?" For the first time, Iroh's voice wasn't bitter. It sounded only surprised. "Prince Zuko, though your sentiment is rightly placed, these people are hardly more than skeletons, and those that aren't will not be pleasant to handle."

"I don't care," Zuko said firmly. "Uncle, how did the nomads respect their people in death?"

"What about the Avatar?" Uncle asked stubbornly.

Zuko considered for a moment, closing his eye and breathing deeply – which he instantly regretted doing. His nose twitched as it picked up the lingering odor of decay. After a moment, he shook his head. "He's not here."

"Shouldn't we at least loo-"

"He's not here," Zuko snapped. "Believe me. Now tell me the ritual for these poor people."

Iroh, seeming to understand that his nephew would not be deterred, rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "From the records I have read, they would return the bodies to the gods so that their next life could be determined. The Air Nomads believed that those whose bodies were left untouched could not move on through the veil. Their spirits would be left to wander the earth, searching for release."

Zuko stared at him. "If I didn't want to before, I surely do now," he said. "Wandering spirits with a grudge against the Fire Nation is not a comforting thought. So how exactly did they return the bodies to their gods?" He looked at the corpse beneath him, hardly more than a collection of bones at his feet. He shivered again. The feeling of death was so heavy in the air he could hardly breathe.

"The records didn't say," Iroh said evasively.

Zuko caught something in his voice and raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh, really?" His tone clearly portrayed his disbelief. Iroh sighed, resigning himself to telling the truth.

"They said. But you will not like it."

"It's not my place to like it, Uncle," Zuko said crisply, "I just have to  _do_ it."

"They would throw the bodies into a ravine."

Zuko blinked, taken aback. "What?"

Iroh nodded. "The bodies would be thrown off the mountain. It was the final return, first through the air that they lived in and finally to the earth that they were molded from. Their bodies would provide food for plants, which would then provide food for them. A cruel cycle, they said, but necessary for all life."

Zuko made a face. "I don't think that this burial is proper. But it was their culture, and I will honor it." Under his breath, he added, "Though these bones won't do any plant much good. There's nothing left on them."

His own joke left him feeling hollow. He swallowed to clear the vile taste in his mouth.

"Where is this ravine, Uncle?"

Uncle looked at him passively. "How should I know? Follow the stench of decaying flesh, and you may find it." His tone showed that he doubted Zuko could smell anything after a hundred years of being exposed to the elements.

"Found it," Zuko muttered rebelliously. "But it won't help – it's everywhere." For he could smell it. It was hardly more than a hint in the air, but it was there. Sickeningly.

Iroh gave him a dubious sidelong glance, but said nothing.

"Alright," Zuko said. "We'll just have to go around the rim and look for it. Come with me, Uncle." He started for the rim. He made it several paces before realizing that he couldn't hear Iroh's footsteps behind him. He turned irritably.

"What are yo-" He stopped. His Uncle was gone. Zuko sighed and continued, his step heavy with annoyance. "You snake. Slink away whenever heights come into the equation. Just leave me to do the dirty work…."

* * *

Iroh pressed himself against the back of the pillar, holding his breath. He heard Zuko stop and turn, and heard him resume his search while muttering under his breath. When his voice finally died away, Iroh breathed out heavily, peering around the pillar. Zuko wasn't visible. Grinning, Iroh set off down another hallway.

His smile faded as he stood before a pair of great doors, huge double horns mounted on the wood and painted in whites and blues. He rested his hand against the warm wood, feeling it thrum with life.  _The only thing alive left in this place,_  Iroh thought sourly. His desire to just peek into the Avatar's sealed room was so strong, Iroh was hard pressed to think of three things he wouldn't give to get in.

He pulled his fingers away and held them under his nose, staring.  _Dust._  That could only mean one thing – the Avatar had not been here since early after the massacre, or he had never been here at all. The first seemed unlikely; an airbender would have given the final rites for his fallen comrades, and likely those of the Fire Nation soldiers as well. Which meant that the Avatar had never visited this room.

Which in turn meant that he would come here, eventually. Every airbender knew about this room, just as every firebender knew of their temple that housed the spirit of the Avatars passed. Iroh, frowning, replaced his hand and pushed it so hard that the grain of it left tiny grooves in his skin.

 _I know you are in there,_  he thought through the wood, willing his voice to travel down his hand and through the door. The wood seemed to vibrate in answer, with an almost surprised tone.  _Would you permit me to leave a message for the Avatar, should he return to this place?_ Iroh continued.

 _Who are you?_  If a door could sound suspicious, this one did.

 _Would you permit me entrance?_  Iroh asked it hopefully.

 _No,_  the door replied bluntly.  _This place is only for Avatars. Even the Elders have never been granted permission. Unless you are accompanied by the Avatar, which you obviously are not, we will not let you in. Who are you?_

Iroh smiled wryly. It had been worth a shot, at least.  _My name is Iroh no Azulon of the Fire Nation, former general and ex-Crown Prince of the Fire Nation, husband to Ami of the Fire Nation, now passed, father to Lu Ten… now passed._

_We see. What is your message?_

_Does that mean you will let me leave one for him?_ Iroh couldn't help but be surprised. Asking had been a shot in the dark.

 _It neither means that we will nor that we will not,_  the door responded stubbornly.  _Tell us your message and we will see._

 _It is merely this…._  Iroh knew it would be simpler to leave a series of pictures by way of explanation then trying to put it into words. He thought silently for several minutes, not feeling as his hand dug into the wood, his eyes screwed shut in concentration.

"Uncle?" Zuko's tentative voice snapped him out of his reverie. Iroh turned, startled, to see him standing several feet away, braced as if expecting an attack.

"Zuko…." He was not quite sure what to say. He turned back to the door regretfully before pulling his hand away. "Ouch!" He yelped as he did so, looking down to see his palm covered in splinters and blood. He stared at it numbly.

"What's the matter with you, Uncle?" Zuko asked crossly. "You're acting so odd."

"Hmm," he said noncommittally, wondering what the Avatars must be thinking about his sudden departure, and if they truly would give his message to their newest life – should he come.

"Here," Zuko sighed, reaching up.

"Don't take it off," Iroh said briskly, but it was too late. Zuko hissed as his eye was exposed to the air, but he stubbornly pulled off the bandage around the side of face. Teeth ground together, he strode up to his Uncle and quickly wrapped it around his hand, tying it in an almost brutally tight knot.

"If you weren't such a space case, I wouldn't have to," Zuko growled. "What did you do, fall asleep standing up? You think you'd notice if your hand started bleeding."

"Something along those lines," Iroh said vaguely. "I'm sorry, Prince Zuko. How did the body-moving go?"

Zuko said nothing for a long while, a strange look settling onto his face. "I suppose it was fine, Uncle. I tossed the bones over the edge, but I didn't know what to say. I just said that I was sorry that they had to die the way they did, and that I hoped they would find more peace in their next life than they had in this one. I asked that they forgi-" he made a strangled sound in his throat and looked away.

"I'm sorry you had to do such a thing," Iroh said sincerely, laying a hand on his shoulder as was his well-worn gesture of comfort. No one – especially someone only thirteen years of age – should have to bury a whole temple; definitely not a Prince granted the knowledge that half were his people and the others those his people mercilessly massacred.

Zuko sighed, rubbing the good side of his face wearily. The other side, despite a month of being pressed under heavy bandages, was still red and angry, swollen and tracked with squiggling, bright red blood vessels. "I didn't have to," he countered, "but I still had no other choice." He lowered his hand almost forcefully, as though it wanted to linger near his face.

Leaving Iroh to puzzle out the contradiction, he walked away, his booted feet echoing hollowly on the floors of the empty tiled halls. Iroh followed him absently, with a last glance at the towering doors.

 _Goodbye,_  he thought, though he knew he was much too far away to be heard by them. In a few fast steps, he caught up with his nephew. "Zuko-"

"There was one body, in a building not far from the main courtyard." Zuko interrupted dryly, staring fixedly ahead. "His clothes were still on his bones, along with a wooden amulet adorned with three swirls."

"An Elder," Iroh put in hesitantly. Zuko nodded.

"That's what I figured," he said. "But it wasn't his body that really caught me. The whole time I had been gathering the bodies and tossing them over the cliff, I had never seen a single skeleton of a child. I know why now." He laughed darkly, the sound sending shivers down Iroh's spine. "The Elder was attempting to protect them, I think, because there were enough children's bones behind him to keep a whole ghostly orphanage in business."

"That's sick, Zuko," Iroh said, a little surprised. The boy never spoke this way – it was too eerily similar to his sister.

He thought he heard his nephew mutter something like, "Can you blame me?"

Iroh had to admit that he couldn't. He said nothing for a while. "What about the bodies of the Fire Nation soldiers?" he finally asked. Zuko sighed.

"Those that I could distinguish from their victims I piled in the courtyard. I was hoping you would do the honor of setting them aflame with your good hand. I don't think I have the heart."

"Of course, Prince Zuko," Iroh said quickly, glad that there was something he could do that didn't involve heights. "I would gladly pay respects to our people."

"They don't really deserve it," Zuko said bitterly, stopping his brisk stride to run a hand over the stone walls of the temple. He peered into a doorway, seeing a sparsely decorated room with only a cot, a dresser, and a wall hanging. He wished to step in and read what was written on it in delicate, tiny print, but didn't dare. Someone had lived in that room, neatly made the bed in the morning, probably started their day as usual without a thought to this place. Before they had been unexpectedly and mercilessly slaughtered by his people. Zuko pulled his hand away from the doorframe reluctantly and started down the hallway again. "Come on, Uncle," he sighed. "The pile is waiting for you."

* * *

"Sir!" Izo was running towards him the second he put his foot on the ship. Zuko looked up and stopped him dead in his tracks. The helmsman paled visibly and swallowed at the sight of Zuko's burn, but seemed to steel his nerves. He smiled bravely and continued towards him, though his pace had slowed to a walk.

"Sir." He bowed briskly, grinning as he came up. "I was just about to follow you up the mountain. Thanks for stopping me. The Captain was giving me a real tongue-lashing for even thinking about it though. Do you think you could talk to hi-" He looked at Iroh's bandaged hand and he broke off, his eyes narrowing. "Did you find him, Sir?"

"No," Zuko said briskly.

"Then how-"

"You will learn your place, Helmsman," Zuko snapped tiredly, his hand twitching. He longed to scratch his face, but knew better than to open the wound. He was in too much pain to be dealing with this upbeat boy, too drained by dumping bones off a cliff and too frustrated with his seemingly useless Uncle. He made an effort to make his hand stop moving – he may be short-tempered, but he did not want the crew to think he would burn them. "Return to your post and contemplate the meaning of respect."

Zuko stalked away before he could see Izo's stung look, like he had slapped him across the face. He strode below deck and to his quarters, slamming the door behind him. The regular darkness enveloped him, and he made his way to his bed without looking, flopping onto it and letting the tightness in his chest slowly unwind as he sobbed uncontrollably.

* * *

"Helmsman, we will go up the East coast of the Earth Kingdom on our way to the Eastern Air Temple. I want to stop at every Occupied port and search it for our quarry. Set our course."

Izo's lips tightened. He refused to look Zuko in the eye, instead staring fixedly out the window and into the storm, ever watchful. "Yes, Sir." His voice was uncommonly curt.

Zuko stared at him for a long second before sighing and swigging from his cup. The wheelhouse was suddenly much less comfortable, without Izo's usual personality. Iroh and the cook were, as usual, engaged in a game of Pai Sho, and Zuko was sitting in his normal stiff metal chair, but the atmosphere was different. Zuko rose from his seat, slammed the metal cup down on the table and stalked out.

Iroh looked up in time to see the door slam. He turned to the cook. "What was that about?"

The cook shrugged and returned his focus to the game. Izo just sighed.

Outside, Zuko let his superheated hands steam in the rain. He closed his eyes and felt it beating on the top of his head, taking deep breaths to calm himself. After a minute of quiet meditation, his bandage was soaked through, and Zuko could feel the wetness against his burn. Angrily, he tore it off. He had been wearing the stupid thing long enough, and he would not be seen with it again as long as he lived. Stalking over to the railing, he heaved it over the edge, taking satisfaction in watching it sink below the surface of the dark water.

 _That's it,_  Zuko thought, staring after it.  _That's the last I care about any of these people. I am on a mission. To restore my honor and tear off the next layer of humiliation, just as I have done with this wound, I will capture the Avatar. To become attached to any of the tools that I use to achieve that goal is foolish._

Footsteps came up behind him. Zuko swung around, confronted with Izo. He didn't say anything, but gripped the railing behind his back.

"Prince Zuko, Sir," Izo said, bowing respectfully, his eyes never leaving Zuko's. He sighed, and ran a hand through his already damp brown hair. "I apologize, for whatever I did that is making you so cold towards me. I thought that you considered me a friend, and I know that I thought of you equally."

"Helmsman," Zuko said slowly, measuring his words, "You have done nothing to offend me but be shamefully disrespectful. Your claims of friendship are based on nothing but fantasy. I am a Prince, soldier, and you would do well to remember my station – as well as your own." Zuko looked away. Despite his cold words, it was all he could do to be dispassionate towards the man when he looked so betrayed. "You should not have left your post in the middle of this storm to tell me what you thought. I don't care at all for what you think. What's important is that you steer this ship, because the success of the mission depends on me having something to capture the Avatar with. Now, Helmsman, if you leave your post and this ship sinks, how will I take him back to my father?"

Zuko dared to lift his gaze challengingly. Izo had gained some composure, and stood stiffly with a carefully neutral expression. "I understand, Sir," he gritted out. "I will return immediately. Let me put your mind at rest, however, by saying that your Uncle agreed to steer for me while I spoke with you." He bowed, and turned on his heel before Zuko could think of something to say. He paused at the door to the wheelhouse and fixed Zuko with a piercing stare. "My apologies, Sir." The weight in those words was greater than all of his others combined.

As Izo stepped out of his vision, Zuko let go of the railing with a gasp. He flexed his fingers, rubbing heat into them and convincing them to straighten.  _It means nothing,_  Zuko told himself.  _He means nothing. He deserved to be put in his place. Every word I said was true._

Zuko looked up, wishing he could see the stars through the blanket of storm clouds over head, or that the incessant tinkling of rain on the metal deck would stop.

 _Damn Uncle,_  he finally thought, turning around and staring out over the ocean.  _What kind of game does he think he's playing here? Sending him out to talk to me like he's trying to be helpful._

As if in response, he heard Iroh's voice booming through the walls of the wheelhouse, "I won! Haha, I won again, Chao!" His voice suddenly lost it victorious tone. "Would you play another game?"

* * *

"That's it," Zuko proclaimed, shaking with disgust and anger. "I'm going back to the ship, Uncle."

"Wha…?" Uncle turned to him, surprised. "But Prince Zuko, what about these bodies? Aren't you going to… well, respect them?"

"I don't see you offering to help, Uncle," Zuko growled, turning back to the long staircase he had just come up. "And to answer your question, yes. But I'm not doing it alone this time. I'll be back," he muttered as an afterthought.

Zuko descended the mountain and across the narrow beach to his ship, carefully measuring his steps. He would not run back to his crew, and they would look him in both eyes if they valued their life. When he went aboard, he peered around the deck for a moment before spotting the familiar sun-browned face he was looking for.

"Lieutenant," he called. "Gather the crew."

Lieutenant Jee nodded and started hollering orders. Before long, Zuko's men were lined up before him, all thirty faceless uniforms and nondescript brown tunics, with the captain surveying both him and his crew from the end. Zuko peered at each face, watching as they all quickly looked away from his burn as his eyes swept over them. He gritted his teeth.

"You, you, and you." He pointed at three marines and turned around briskly. "Come with me."

"Uh, yes Sir!" They hurried to catch up with him as he strode down the gangplank and across the beach once more.

"If I may ask, what is it that we are doing, Sir?" the hesitant voice of one of his chosen companions asked from behind him.

"A-are we helping you with the Avatar?"

"Is your Uncle holding him off right now?" Each voice was progressively lower and more afraid.

Zuko snorted. "Don't be fools. My Uncle's probably hiding out in one of the rooms farthest away from the cliffs, trying not to feel dizzy. Your only purpose in coming up is to help me pay our respect to the bodies in the temple. You will not speak. You're job is to gather the bones of the airbenders and pile them in the courtyard. Understood?"

There was a pause as the marines chewed on what he had said, obviously surprised. "Yes, Sir," one finally said.

"I will assemble the firebenders," Zuko said. He reached to top of the stairs and turned back to them, giving them an imperial look as they skidded to a hasty stop a few steps below him. "When I am done, I will join you in the courtyard. Dismissed."

"Yes, Sir!" they said in unison. They rushed past him and started grabbing the bones that were scattered at the entrance to the temple that were still clad in tattered yellow and orange robes. Zuko watched them silently for a second, shocked and disgusted at their obvious lack of respect for the bodies. Growling under his breath, he bent and picked up a half-buried red helmet, holding it upright and giving it a shake. A skull fell into his outstretched hand. He glared at it for a second, then sent it bursting into flames, holding it in his palm until it was nothing more than ashes scattered by the wind. Sighing, he picked up the other bones and started a pile.

* * *

"Damn it all to Koh's dark lair!" Zuko liked the way the phrase bounced off the rock walls and returned to his ears, though it didn't lift his spirits. "He's not here! He's not anywhere! Where  _is_  that slimy coward?"

"Prince Zuko," Iroh said in a pacifistic voice, coming up behind the steaming boy and laying a broad hand on his shoulder as always. "We've barely set foot in the temple. You can't be sure that the Avatar isn't hiding in one of the inner rooms. I don't understand why… ahh…." For the first time, Iroh noticed that Zuko was standing in close proximity to the daunting cliff and he hurriedly took a few steps back. Zuko snorted at the movement. "Um… why you continue to leave without properly searching. You didn't even go into the Northern Air Temple."

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot think, Uncle. That's my father's job. And I didn't enter that temple because it was obvious he was not there. There were people living at that temple."

"But I don't understand, Prince Zuko," Iroh insisted, though really he did. He knew that the crew did not have the same knowledge as he, though, and hoped Zuko had a good alibi to give to them when they got bold enough to ask the question to his face. "Why are you so sure of where he is and is not? It seems to me that an inhabited temple would be an even more likely hideout for the Avatar than an empty one, yet you didn't even stop to search it. Why?"

Zuko turned around, staring imperially at the hanging temples and avoiding his Uncle's eyes as smoothly as his question. "Why are there no bodies here?"

Iroh blinked. More surprising than Zuko's bold redirection, it seemed that he had become accustomed to giving the final rites to the dead. The old man frowned – that was not a suitable for a child to do once, let alone more. "Perhaps the Nomads living here had a chance to escape?" he offered, deciding to let the matter slide for a little longer.

"From here, maybe," Zuko allowed, taking a few steps away from the edge and laying his hand on a huge stone pillar. It curled into a fist of anger. "But Sozin must have found them wherever they fled to. Which is unfortunate – he has set their restless spirits on our country, and I have no way of setting the sin straight."

"You shouldn't hold yourself responsible for your ancestor's evil," Iroh told him.

"Are you telling me that Great-Grandfather was evil?" Zuko asked sharply, his head snapping to the side to fix him with one golden eye. Iroh stifled a sigh.

"No," he said quickly. "Misguided, yes, but evil…." Uncle floundered with his words for a moment. "Listen, Prince Zuko. A person can commit evil acts without being evil. Each person has the capacity for good and evil within them, and it is the one that they choose to act on that defines them. Sometimes, a good person must act in an evil manner, but that does not mean they enjoy it. And sometimes, an evil person acts in a way that turns out to be good. The point is, my boy, that there is no black and white when speaking of good and evil, though people will try to paint it that way."

Zuko was silent for a long moment, and finally he turned his head away. "You always speak in riddles," he growled, and stalked over to the rope hanging from the top of the grotto, grabbing it and starting the long upward climb.

Iroh shook his head sadly. He really had tried to speak clearly.

Sighing, he took a few steps toward the rope. He had known that Zuko's Palace teachings would not be erased overnight, but he had hoped the boy wouldn't cling to them so. The Prince had always been told that an ancestor's failing is your own, and that you must live to clean the sins of your forefathers. Your honor is determined by how hard you work to make your parents proud, and to disobey your father or mother is to show that you hold no respect for their teachings, and so their culture. If Zuko allowed himself to think that Sozin was evil, then he would have to resign himself to fixing Sozin's wrong deeds, and anyone could see that doing so would mean a lifetime of work, after which he would still not be finished.

Not to mention the ideal that your father's wish was your own, his very blood coursing through yours a sign of the parallels between them. If Sozin was evil then the bad blood ran through the royal line, meaning that Zuko's grandfather, his father, and even he himself was evil by inheritance. Zuko was apparently not going to let himself think that. And Iroh had no intention of making him; he just had to figure out how to break the boy of the philosophies that Sozin and every Fire Lord since had pushed on their people.

It would not be easy. Zuko was as stubborn as komodo-rhino when he thought he was right, and even more so when he thought he was wrong and didn't want to admit it.


	10. Finally

Zuko's golden eyes flew open inexplicably. Grunting, he rolled off his cot and ghosted across his room, slipping through the door and up the stairs. He made his way to the taffrail, resting his hands on it easily as he stared out into the darkness. Stars glittered, their reflections shimmering on the constantly moving surface of the water, and tiny droplets of rain hit the surface and made the spots of light ripple. The hair on his arms rose, both from the cold and some strange sixth sense. He couldn't put his finger on it, but the atmosphere was different.

"Sir? Is everything alright?"

Zuko half-turned to the inquiring voice behind him. "Lieutenant," he remarked. His head canted as he thought for a moment, then he faced the open sea once more. "I am well. But do you not feel that… energy?"

There was a pause. Hesitantly, the captain came up next to him, glancing first at Zuko's face and then following his gaze into the emptiness of the dark night. "Energy, Sir?" he asked reluctantly, stoically clasping his hands behind his back. "I'm afraid I don't feel anything out of place."

Zuko squinted into the mist created by the fine rain and the moonlight. "Hnn. There is something . Something changed just moments ago."

"…Changed, sir?" It was clear from his tone that the captain was confused, but respectfully trying not to show it. Zuko's back straightened indignantly and he drew himself up to his full height, but he didn't turn to meet the man's gaze directly, his bright eyes shining like small flames illuminating the night.

"Nevermind, Lieutenant. Return to your post."

Jee paused uncertainly for a moment, but nodded and reluctantly fulfilled the order, turning to walk towards his nighttime post on the spotting deck. Zuko continued to stare, senses tingling, trying to discern what exactly was different.

"Captain," he called after a moment, his eyes narrowing and peering into the nothing. The bootfalls across the metal deck behind him stopped. "Tell the helmsman to set a course for the Southern Air Temple. Full speed. No stops along the way."

"…Yes, Sir," the Lieutenant said, diplomatically keeping most the bewilderment out of his voice. His footsteps continued.

As the man retreated towards the wheelhouse, Zuko's slight frown deepened, and he glared into the night as if suspecting to find answers there.  _Why the hell did I say that?_

A few minutes later, when the rain picked up speed and started drumming softly on the metal ship, Zuko was still standing on the deck with his hands on the metal rail. He shivered involuntarily and resisted the childish urge to wrap his arms around himself, instead settling on breathing some fire-heated breath through his lungs and onto his bare arms in order to keep warm. He crossed them sternly over his chest, tucked his hands under his biceps, and pretended not to notice the wet seeping into the plain grey wool.

Suddenly, a thick gray blanket settled across his shoulders. Zuko jumped and turned, surprised to see Iroh behind him with his hands innocently in the air and a half-smile playing across his face. "Only me, Prince Zuko," he said reassuringly, patting his shoulders almost patronizingly. Zuko shook away the touch, but was careful not to let the blanket drop. He surreptitiously drew it closer around him.

"Why are you out here?" Zuko finally asked gruffly, returning his stare out into the open sea. He was aware that he had been doing nothing else for quite some time, but seemed oddly unable to do anything else. Iroh came up next to him and followed Zuko's gaze. After several seconds of peering into the darkness without results, he turned back to his nephew.

"Lieutenant Jee told me that you had felt something important that he had not picked up on. He wanted me to come aboard to be sure that all was well."

"You mean, he actually believed me?" Zuko asked, with more than a little surprise. Iroh shrugged.

"He wasn't sure what to believe," he admitted. "The Captain trusts your instincts, but he also trusts his own. Hence, bringing in the respectable third party. Though I think I might sacrifice my respectability for a good night's sleep now and then." He laughed as he said this, absently rubbing his hands together. As his chuckle faded, he cast Zuko a sidelong glance, eyes narrowed and considering. "Just what is it that you felt?"

Zuko was silent for a long time as he contemplated the question. His hands clenched and unclenched on the freezing taffrail as he thought, trying to find a way to word the strange sense that had woken him in the middle of the night that didn't make him sound completely crazy. Finally he answered, very slowly and deliberately, "I felt a change in the atmosphere, like an energy stirring or some… balance disturbed."

Iroh pursed his lips and nodded, turning away.

"Do you doubt me?" Zuko asked indignantly, bristling as he saw the gesture.

"Of course I don't doubt you, Prince Zuko," Iroh said soothingly, shifting to meet his nephew's gaze. When his eyes slid out to the sea again, his face was troubled. He mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "That's the problem."

"What?" Zuko asked dully, completely lost as to where this jump in logic had sprung from.

"Nothing," Iroh said briskly, grabbing Zuko's arm and steering him away from the railing. "Go back to bed, Prince Zuko. It would not do well to catch cold when you're so close."

Zuko's eyes narrowed and he pulled out of the grip just before he could be gently shoved below deck. "What do you mean, so close?" he demanded, ignoring the drizzle on his bare scalp. "It's been nearly three years, Uncle. Three years since I last set eyes on my home, and my friends, and Ma-" His voice cracked and he broke off. Swallowing, he started again, his voice low. "What do you mean?"

Iroh's deep gold eyes bore into his, the old man's face unusually serious. The silence dragged on for several long moments until Iroh finally took a step back and straightened. "Surely you haven't given up hope?" he said with false cheerfulness, more stating than asking. "It's like I said, Prince Zuko, it would not do well to fall ill. Please, return to bed." He moved away more swiftly than Zuko had thought possible, leaving the teen standing on the stairs between above- and below-deck, a thick blanket from Iroh's own cot wrapped around him.

"What about you?" he called after his surprise had abated, but there was no answer. He shivered, and with one more scanning look across the now-empty deck, he retired to his room. When he closed the door behind him and lit three of the five small white candles, he felt the blanket of warmth surround him like another layer around the first, and soon all thoughts of energy and balances disappeared as he sunk onto the cot and promptly fell asleep, the candles slowly flickering out.

* * *

"How long until we reach the Southern Air Temple?"

"Roughly two days, Sir, if we continue at this speed."

"Good."

Silence stretched uncomfortably as Zuko sat with his tea in one hand and Izo stood with a very straight back and his eyes fixed pointedly out to sea. Zuko sipped the tea and sprawled in his chair, closing his eyes and trying to relax. His whole body hummed, buzzing with a firm desire to head south as quickly as he possibly could. He fought the urge to tell the helmsman to double their speed, knowing that the men had gone full-speed for days and needed a rest. Even so, the pace he was taking them was brutal, and Izo showed it. He had dark circles under his gold eyes, and he yawned so often that Zuko started yawning whenever he spent more than a few seconds in the wheelhouse. But Zuko didn't give him a rest – he  _needed_ to be at the Southern Air Temple. He wanted to be there now.

Izo yawned again, and a second later Zuko's own mouth opened wide. Iroh chuckled from the table, where he sat with his newest prey – one of the engineers. "I think both of you should get some rest," he said.

"No," both young men answered simultaneously. They cast each other a quick glance before looking away. Zuko stared sullenly into the bottom of his tea cup, where tiny bits of the leaves stuck to the bottom of the white porcelain.

"No disrespect meant, of course, General," Izo said quickly, filling the silence left after the double exclamation. "But I have firm orders from the Prince that I am to steer all night. My relief will come in the morning." His tone was very carefully neutral.

Zuko lifted his gaze expectantly, and saw Iroh fixing him with a hard stare. He sighed heavily and rolled his eyes. "Oh, go to sleep," he snapped. "I'll steer for a while."

All eyes turned to him. "…What?" Izo finally asked, forgetting his manners in his surprise. Zuko had  _never_ gone back on an order.

"Are you deaf, helmsman? I said I will steer. Sleep for a few hours. I will send someone to wake you when you should return. And you had better be well-rested, because you will not leave this post tomorrow at all, understood?"

Izo looked about ready to argue, saw the look on Zuko's face, and thought better of it. "Yes, Sir," he said, sketching a quick bow with one hand on the wheel. As soon as Zuko had stood, unceremoniously dropped the tea cup onto the table and taken hold of it, he headed towards the door. He reached it, pushed it open, as yawned as he closed it again behind him without a word.

"Zuko," Iroh chastised, his eyes on the board before him, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "I said  _both_ of you should get rest – the operative word there being  _both._ "

"Quiet, Uncle," Zuko said impatiently, gripping the wheel with one hand and steering calmly. There was something that felt utterly right about the position. His eyes widened alertly and he took a deep breath. "I'm not tired." And he wasn't. He felt as close to the opposite of tired that he had ever felt in his life. He felt alive.

 _I_ _ **know**_   _you're out there, Avatar. And I_ _ **am**_ _going_   _to find you._

He heard Iroh rumble a sigh and couldn't help a tiny smile. He thought hard to dig up something that Izo would say when standing as Zuko was now. He came up with something appropriate. "Is he winning, Hiraku?" His tone made it clear that he had no doubts about the answer.

Sure enough, the only sound that answered him was the hollow thud of the man's head hitting the metal table with a moan of frustration. Zuko smirked.

"He's not losing  _too_ terribly," Iroh said sportsmanly. "I think if he keeps playing, he might even make a turn around. I'm not sure if I could win if he really put his heart to it."

"Really?" came Hiraku's muffled but hopeful reply. Zuko rolled his eyes.

"Why, yes," Iroh said, and Zuko could practically hear the manipulative grin in his voice. "Maybe you should give in now and save me the humiliation."

"That's it," Hiraku said. "Let's finish this."

Zuko shook his head sadly and turned the wheel.

* * *

Zuko doubled over with a choke, slamming the porcelain on the table and shattering it, the shards leaving scratches across his hand. In a flash, Iroh and Hiraku were on their feet and by his chair.

"Zuko?" Iroh demanded, grabbing his shoulder and trying to peer at his face. "Zuko, what is it?"

"What's going on?" Izo asked tensely from the wheel, casting frequent worried glances over his shoulder but unwilling to leave the steering to fate. Zuko growled and didn't straighten, his good hand cupped over his scar and the bleeding one on his neck, fingers pressed against the skin and leaving red rivulets dripping onto his armor.

"Cut the engines," he snarled, his voice husky with pain.

"Sir-"

"Do it now!"

"Yes, Sir." Izo mumbled the order into the pipe, and a moment later the ship stopped and all was still for a moment. Zuko rubbed his neck one more time, swore, and then stuffed the bleeding hand under his breastplate, rising to his feet. Slowly, he lowered his other hand from his face, seemed to gather his nerves, and strode out. Iroh fixed a hard stare on Hiraku.

"Stay," he ordered, as if talking to a liondog. The engineer nodded numbly, and Iroh followed the young Prince.

He had gone out to the deck and gripped the starboard railing with one hand, peering into the bright landscape with narrowed eyes. Iroh walked up to his side, considered laying a hand on his shoulder, and thought better of it, instead folding them in his sleeves. "What is it, Zuko?" he asked quietly.

Zuko didn't answer, his jaw clamped shut and his eyes piercing into the sunlight. Iroh looked over him with a critical eye, noticing how his hand clenched and unclenched silently on the metal bar. "Does it hurt?"

"The scar? Always," came Zuko's curt response.

"And your neck?"

The boy looked at him sharply. "What do you know?" he asked warily.

"You grabbed it," Iroh said wryly. "What else do I have to know?"

Zuko was quiet for a second. "Imagine a knife stabbing into the space just under your skull. Then twist it. That's what it felt like. For a moment."

Iroh's eyes widened and he swallowed, his imagination suddenly much too good for his liking. "Just for a moment?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Zuko said, and he pulled his hand out of his armor and rubbed it numbly.

"Does that hurt?" Iroh requested, his hand snaking out and grabbing Zuko's wrist to stare at his hand.

"Stop mothering, Uncle," Zuko snapped, pulling it out of his grip. He cradled it in his other hand for a minute before returning it into his armor. "It's fine," he muttered.

"Mmm." Iroh turned away from his nephew and looked out over the icy waters, the light blindingly bright as if reflected off the snow. He shielded his eyes with his hands, following Zuko's gaze but seeing nothing of note. "What happened?" he finally asked.

"I don't know!" Zuko seethed. "I've had an odd feeling for days, ever since that one night when it was raining. All of a sudden I felt that sharp pain, and I knew I had to get out on deck. So, here I am, and nothing's happening." He smiled wryly. "Agni, I wish I understood  _something._ "

Iroh felt his heart go out to the boy and wanted to say something, or to pat his shoulder, but instead walked several paces away and lowered himself carefully onto the crate upturned next to a small table. He withdrew a teapot and leaves from a hidden pocket deep in his robes and set them out on the table. Immediately, a marine came up with a pail of water, offering it to the older man with a knowing half-smile.

"Thank you," Iroh told him, taking the metal container. With one deep breath, his hands grew hot and the water started to steam and hum. Smiling, Iroh carefully poured it into the pot, settling the lid back onto the porcelain delicately. Then he turned to the marine. "Would you care for a game of Pai Sho?" he asked nonchalantly. The boy paled.

"No, thank you, Sir-"

"No, no, I insist! Allow me to get the board."

The boy's eyes were wide as a rabbitmouse stuck in a trap. "Y-y-y-yes, Sir," he managed, and he fearfully sat down on the other side of the table as Iroh stood, staring blankly at the crate as if seeing his demise carved into the wood. Casting a glance over his shoulder to see Zuko absently rubbing the cuts on his hand while his gaze continued to roam the ice-dotted water, Iroh went to the wheelhouse and carefully gathered the tiles in his sleeves, tucking the board under one arm.

"Sir?" Izo questioned from his post at the wheel.

"I'm moving where I can keep an eye on my nephew and still enjoy myself."

"I can watch him from here," Izo said, sounding a little stung.

"Then do," Iroh said, walking out. He set the board on the crate and hummed tunelessly as he laid out the pieces. Sitting down, he said, "Your move," to the Marine, who was still staring despondently at the wood of the table. Seeming to shake himself awake, he picked up a tile from the neat stack on his side, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger thoughtfully, and carefully placed it on the board.

"A White Jade, eh?" Iroh said, slightly disappointed. "Interesting first move. It leaves many possibilities for the next, I suppose. And to counter it, I believe I will play a Snapdragon." True to his word, he picked up the tile and laid it down.

In the next few minutes, Iroh pretended to be completely involved in the game, but the marine knew nothing of the tender nuances that engaged the opponent's strategical side. The boy's harmonies were simple, juvenile even, and he avoided all disharmonies, even those that would make the harmonies even better when resolved. Iroh barely had to think to set up a grand win. He didn't even bother betting. Just as he was about to place the last tile that would cement his carefully laid trap, the world suddenly went white. For a horrifying moment, he remembered the last time it had done so. But when he blinked a few times, his eyes adjusted enough that he was able to see that the  _world_  was not white, simply a huge strip of it on the horizon. As the light faded slowly, Iroh turned a wary eye to Zuko, waiting.

The boy's face was lit up, and even from several feet away Iroh could hear his heart thudding. "Finally," he said, his voice filled with longing and a deep satisfaction. He shifted a little, balling his hands into fists at his sides. "Uncle, do you realize what this means?"

Iroh carefully lifted his tea cup and sipped at it, slowly setting the tile down on the board and watching a look of horrified realization settle across the marine's face. "I won't get to finish my game?" he suggested, mostly for the boy's benefit. He seemed hopeful by the prospect.

"It means my search… it's about to come to an end."

Iroh couldn't help but groan. Today was not the day for this to happen. Zuko couldn't afford to fight the Avatar with only one hand – he could barely firebend sufficiently with two.  _Damn_  Roku. Luckily, Zuko misinterpreted the sound.

"That light came from an incredibly powerful source," he insisted excitedly. "It has to be him!" The marines were starting to buzz with anticipation, some of them gathering on the deck and waiting to see what would happen. Iroh glanced around.

"Or, it is just the celestial lights," he said carefully. "We've been done this road before, Prince Zuko. I don't want you to get too excited over nothing. Please, sit." He gave the marine a significant look, which the boy caught. He quickly got out of his seat and strode to another group of young men while Iroh gestured to the now-vacant seat. "Why don't you enjoy a cup of calming jasmine tea?" he suggested.

"I don't need any calming tea!" Zuko shouted, his eyes flashing with either excitement or anger – Iroh couldn't tell which. "I  _need_ to capture the Avatar." He looked up to the wheelhouse, where Izo was staring down at him through the window, his lips pressed into a tight line. Zuko pointed. "Helmsman, head a course for the light!"

Izo did nothing for a long moment, then nodded and obediently turned the wheel, his mouth moving as he spoke the order into the metal pipe that descended through the depths of the ship and ended in the coal room.

* * *

"Oh yeah. I'm sure he's a spy for the Fire Nation. You can tell by that  _evil_  look in his eye." Sarcasm practically poured from her voice as she stared down the other boy in blue, her hands on her hips in a patronizing manner.

Aang smiled innocently at the comment, but Sokka was not impressed. The older boy crossed his arms and glared steadfastly at the stranger as his sister gave the introductions.

"The paranoid one is my brother, Sokka." In response, the Water Tribe warrior snorted and tossed his head, but didn't say anything. Katara ignored him, one of her favorite activities, and continued. "You never told us your name."

Aang grinned at her attention and thrust a thumb at his chest. "I'm A… aaahhh… ahhhhhhh… ah ah ah AACHOO!"

The two siblings watched in shock and awe, respectively, as the young yellow-robed bald boy shot off the ground with the force of his sneeze. Sokka leaned over and murmured, "You think he's dead? Just wonderin, cause any normal human-"

Aang landed, wiped his nose, and sniffled. "I'm Aang," he said brightly.

Sokka raised an eyebrow at the boy, slowly uncrossing his arms for a better grip on his spear. "You just sneezed… and flew ten feet in the air." As Aang cast his gaze upward, muttering, Sokka turned back to Katara and added in an impressed low voice, "And survived…."

Katara rolled her eyes and pushed him away, turning back to the monk with a shine in her bright blue eyes and a white grin on her suntanned face. "You're an airbender!" she cried, like it was a miracle almost beyond belief.

"Sure am," Aang replied proudly. He looked her over with a critical eye and a considering purse of his lips, then met her eyes and grinned. "And I bet you're a waterbender."

Katara's jaw dropped and Sokka's eyebrow arched higher. "How did you know?" the girl gasped. Aang shrugged nonchalantly, but was smiling with obvious pleasure.

"Oh, you know how it is. Monks know a lot of things."

"Oh yeah, everyone knows that," Sokka drawled, rolling his eyes. He suddenly gripped his spear and pulled it up until it pointed at the boy's chest, making both his sister and Aang squeak in surprise. Sokka fixed him with a steely glare. "The Air Monks have been dead for a hundred years. If you think you can convince me that you are one, just because you survived some freakish sneeze, you're mistaken. Now give us your real name, and your nation, you spy! How do you know things about my sister?"

"Sokka!" Katara cried indignantly. "I'm sure it was just a guess." She stepped forward and knocked the spear out of the way, setting herself protectively in front of Aang. She opened her mouth to continue defending him when she felt a hand on her shoulder, pushing her gently but firmly out of the way.

"What do you mean?" The boy said very slowly and seriously, big gray eyes meeting Sokka's brilliant blue ones without fear. Sokka faltered for a minute under the piercing stare, but strengthened his resolve – and his grip on the spear – and poked the boy with the pointed end.

"I meant whatI said. Now tell us who you are! And get away from my sister!"

Aang took another step forward, his face severe. Sokka panicked and moved the spear upward until the point rested on the pale skin of the monk's neck, and Aang halted his advance. He calmly raised his hands to the level of his abnormally large ears in a sign of innocence.

"Listen," he said, his voice smooth, "I am what I said I am. You want the truth? Well there you are. Can't get any, uh, truthier. I am an airbending monk from the Southern Air Temple, and…" he faltered and swallowed, his Adam's apple brushing the tip of the spear before he continued, "and that's all. I figured you were from the Water Tribes because of the clothes you're wearing, and that means you're waterbenders, right? Now what did you mean by saying that my people have been dead for a hundred years? Is that your idea of a joke?" He didn't sound angry, only pacifistic and confused. Sokka's brow drew together.

"No… what's with you? Not  _everyone_  is a bender, you know, and we're proud of it. And seriously, don't you know anything about the war? Or have you being living under a rock for the past  _hundred years?_ "

Aang paled."War? One hundred years? What are you talking about?"

"He hasn't been living under a rock," Katara spoke up, gently laying a hand on Sokka's shoulder and slowly pushing the spear away from Aang's throat. The monk slowly lowered his arms and flashed a hesitant smile at her, but it didn't reach his eyes. Katara turned her brother so he would look her in the eyes, and she said very deliberately, "He's been living in this iceberg."

* * *

 _Three years. Not a sign. Not a whisper. Suddenly… everything's obvious._ Zuko stood in his usual position at the railing, peering into the sunbathed horizon.  _Three years ago, I stood liked this. I watched my country fade into that same sun as it set over the ocean. I told myself I would capture the Avatar, to regain my honor. I knew it was my destiny._

His hands tightened on the metal.  _I was right._

Several minutes later, Zuko was still staring into the space where the ship was pointed, where the beam of light had shot up from the earth as if Agni himself was proclaiming the young prince's salvation. The sun had set long ago, and the dark wrapped around him like a cloak. Suddenly, he heard familiar light footsteps behind him, and inwardly sighed. "I'm going to bed now," Iroh said, confirming his identity. He made an exaggerated yawn, and Zuko resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yep. A man needs his rest."

Iroh paused long enough for the glaringly obvious hint to sink in. When Zuko didn't move, he sighed. "Prince Zuko, you need some sleep. If you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you need to be well-rested to capture him tomorrow. You will need all your energy, and mine. Please, go to sleep."

"You sound like you doubt me, Uncle," the boy said softly. "But don't worry. I know what's good for me, and I know what I feel. That light came from the Avatar, and by this time tomorrow, we will be heading towards the Fire Nation with him as our prisoner. Do  _not_ underestimate me."

"I never dreamed of any such thing," Iroh reassured him, setting his hand on Zuko's shoulder in a familiar gesture. "Will you come with me? Perhaps you would take that cup of tea now."

Zuko very nearly shook his head. But when he turned to see his Uncle, with his slow and broad smile, his pounding heart tightened. He wrapped his arms around the shorter man, who stiffened in surprise for only a second, and buried his head in his Uncle's shoulder. "I'm going to catch him, Uncle. I will."

Iroh patted his shoulder. "I know. I believe that you will restore your honor, Prince Zuko," he said. "Come. It is brewing in my quarters."

Zuko didn't know why he did it, or why he let his Uncle pull him along like a lost liondog. Maybe because, with his nerves stretched as taught as a wound rubberband, that's exactly what he felt like. And Uncle's jasmine tea was delicious.

* * *

"They're not all dead," Aang reassured them, looking up from the bare snow where he sat as the two siblings paced around him. "You can trust me. We're Air  _Nomads._ Just because no one's seen one for a hundred years doesn't mean they don't exist. They're probably just in hiding."

"No," Sokka said solidly. "No, that's not possible. No one could hide from Sozin for that long." He shot Aang a suspicious glance, silently voicing,  _So how did you?_

"Of course it's  _possible,_  Sokka," Katara said, in her falsely cheery and optimistic voice. " _Anything's_  possible, right?"

Aang's made a face. "I don't like the way you put that."

"Well, there's no way we can know for sure, is there?" Sokka finally declared, stopping his pacing and standing solidly in front of Aang. "Why don't you just help m-"

"Actually," Aang said, airbending to his feet, "there is a way. But I have to go… somewhere… and check… something." He grabbed his glider from the ground next to him, then noticed Katara beaming in the corner. "Wanna come?" he asked her, suddenly thinking about spending a day's flight with the surreally gorgeous girl. A smile spread across his face unbidden. Katara opened her mouth to respond and Sokka's voice came out.

"No," he cut over her. "Absolutely not. This kid could be a spy, for all we know. I still don't trust him. There's  _no way_  I'm going to let you go flying off with some stranger who could be kidnapping you for all I know." He glared at Katara as if daring her to argue with him, which she did.

"Sokka," Katara chastised. "Aang is  _not_  a spy, okay?"

"Think of mom," Sokka said quietly, and suddenly the atmosphere in the family tent seemed colder. Aang's glance darted between the two siblings, wondering what exactly was going on. "What if he is a spy, just maybe, and he goes off and gives the location of our village to the Fire Nation? How would you feel if they came back with warships, like they did before? Who might die this time?"

Katara had gone deathly pale, and Aang looked at her worriedly, but he didn't dare say anything in what was obviously a family affair. Instead, he grasped his staff tightly as tears welled in Katara's eyes. "How can you say that?" she whispered hoarsely. Sokka looked at her a little guiltily, but shook his head, as if banishing the feeling and steeling his nerves.

"I'm the man of the village now, Katara," he said. "I have to think of them." He paused for a minute. "You should too. Would you really put them all in danger for some kid?"

Katara's eyes flashed to Aang and back in less than a second, but Aang caught the hesitation in them. And suddenly, with a surge of guilt, he spoke up. "No, he's right, Katara. You should stay here. I'll go by myself."

"Aang." Sokka sounded almost apologetic – almost. Aang turned to him suspiciously, and Sokka sighed and looked at him with weary eyes. "I can't let you go either."


	11. Prisoners

The sensation of a warm hand descending over her mouth was what woke her. She sat up with a start, arms sweeping out and gathering snow from the floor around her on instinct. She searched the darkness of the tent for her assailant, and saw pale skin and wide gray eyes. Her hands dropped to her side, and the boy pulled his away from her, instead putting his finger to his lips in the universal sign for  _quiet_.

"Aang!" Katara hissed. She glanced over her shoulder, reassuring herself that her brother was still asleep. Sokka only grumbled and shifted. Satisfied, Katara turned back to her midnight visitor. "What are you doing here?" she demanded in a whisper. "You're supposed to be stuck in the ice tower."

Aang shrugged his small shoulders with an innocent grin. "Your brother's not really one for prisoners. It was easy to get out."

Katara smiled. "He's not really one for anything," she admitted with a little giggle. Aang smiled back.

"Well, at least not being good with prisoners is a good thing. Means he's a good guy." He shifted on his feet and Katara watched in the half moonlight as his smile faded. "And I really don't want to let him down or anything, but I can't stay here forever. Sorry, Katara, really. I promise I'm not a spy, but I have to see if what you said is true. I need to see for my own eyes that my people are still alive. Can you understand that?"

Though she didn't really, she could understand the desperation in his tone. "I guess so," she finally replied. "But, Aang…." She trailed off, looking hesitantly at her hands. She tried to figure out a way to phrase what she wanted.

"Yes?" he asked her earnestly. "What is it, Katara?"

"Well, I know you have someplace you need to go, and maybe it's private business, and I know Sokka would be angry, but… well… I was wondering if you might take me to the North Pole, so I could learn waterbending." She lifted her face to him, her eyes pleading. "I don't think I'll ever get up there if I don't go with you. All the men except Sokka are off at war, and there's no way I could canoe to the North Pole on my own." She fell silent for a long second, hanging her head, before giving him a small smile. "I know it's a lot to ask. But will you consider it?"

Aang tilted his head and said nothing for a long second, and Katara felt her heart sink into her stomach. Then he grinned and offered her his hand, standing up. "I've considered it," he whispered, looking over at Sokka. "And I'd be glad to have you aboard." Katara beamed at him, taking his hand and being lifted to her feet. "Meet you out by the watchtower in five minutes," he said, and then darted out of the tent, grabbing the staff leaning against the tent by Sokka's bed as he went.

Blushing with exhilaration, Katara rushed to her side of the tent and silently opened her trunk, pulling out clothes and bundling them into manageable packages. She was doing it. She was actually going to the North Pole. She was going to learn how to be a waterbender.

She looked over her shoulder at her brother's sleeping mass, his chest rising and falling slowly with each breath. She glared at him, hating him for sleeping soundly and not packing with her, not sharing the delight of leaving and going somewhere new, but after a long second sighed and shook her head.  _I tried,_  she thought.  _He could have come with us. But there's just no changing idiocy._

* * *

The morning after the light shaft appeared on the horizon like a sign from Agni, Zuko rose feeling better than he had in three years. He dressed in soft, woven fabrics meant for training and emerged from his quarters with a determined half-smile, walking down the hallway to his Uncle's room. He knocked once before pushing the door open to be greeted by hearty, rumbling snores. Sighing good-naturedly, he crossed the room and shook Iroh's shoulder.

"Uncle," he said, shaking more insistently when he got no response. "Wake up."

The offending man grumbled and cracked one eye. "Prince Zuko," he muttered, a little surprised. He opened his other eye and sat up. "What are you doing here?"

Zuko leaned back, satisfied that it hadn't taken the usual amount of time to wake him up. "Izo assures me that we will reach the source of the light by early this afternoon. I wish to train in what time I have before then."

Iroh rubbed his eyes. "Yes, yes, that's a good plan. I'll be on deck in five minutes. Gather… oh, three men."

Zuko paused and looked at him askance. "Three?"

"Yes, three," Iroh said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Three marines should be a good  _warm-up_  for the Avatar." He said nothing else, and Zuko could see the dismissal in his words. He nodded and strode out of the room again, apprehensive but still in high spirits.

He emerged into the sunlight on the deck with a smile and a deep breath, breathing in the scent of salty sea air. Catching sight of a familiar gruff face, he called out, "Captain!"

Lieutenant Jee turned, saw who had called him, and walked quickly to his side, sketching a bow. "Prince Zuko. How may I help you?" As he rose, his eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Zuko's dress, and before Zuko could say anything he asked, "Training, Sir? How many men?"

Zuko gave him a small smile, to which Jee had no response but a blank expression. "Three, Captain. Send them to the stern. And tell the cooks that I will eat in my room when I'm finished."

Lieutenant Jee bowed stiffly. "Yes, Sir." It sounded like he spoke out of gritted teeth. Zuko's smile widened and he walked away.

"Oh, and, Captain," he called over his shoulder. He caught sight of Jee stopping mid-stride and clenching his hands, and he had to stifle a giggle. He congratulated himself that his voice was cool when he spoke. "Good morning."

He heard Jee's hearty laugh, watched him suddenly relax. He knew they were both thinking of the same memory three years ago. "Good morning, Sir," he said, reciting words they both already knew. The only other sound was bootfalls on the metal deck as the lieutenant went to gather some free marines.

Zuko kept walking, feeling the sun bright on his face, reflected by the snow and ice and water all around him, and he laughed out loud. It was a good morning. A brilliant morning. The morning of the day he would go home.

* * *

Sokka yawned loudly and stretched his arms over his heads, feeling his shoulders pop and smiling. He opened his eyes a little, noting the gleam of bright sunlight coming in through the tent flap…

He sat up. The  _open_  tent flap.  _What the hell…?_

Instantly, his eyes flicked to his sister's bed.

His heart dropped. It was empty.

He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing his boomerang from its sheath hanging on one of the tent poles and sprinting from the tent. He ran to the watchtower, swearing under his breath at the sight of the hole that had been blasted through the side. Ducking inside, he noticed the heap of ropes piled to one side and almost hit himself in the forehead. Of course an airbender could get out of it – but how was he supposed to know that? Panic gripping his heart, he clambered up the ruined staircase to the top of the tower, where a single window was chiseled into the ice. Shielding his eyes with his hand, he peered into the distance, looking for some sign of the bison, some hint of his sister and the stupid bastard that had captured her.

He saw nothing.

"Shit!" he said to no one. His sister was gone, and he had let that Fire Nation spy take her, just like he had let the Fire Nation soldier kill Mom, just like he had let the Fire Nation army take dad away. What kind of older brother was he? How could a man of the village let this happen? He pounded one fist on the window, fighting tears, and suddenly, the unstable tower collapsed and buried him in a pile of snow. He stuck his head out of the rubble, spitting ice out of his mouth. "Shit!"

* * *

"Aang, this is amazing! I knew he could fly!"

Aang beamed at her and scratched Appa's head affectionately. "Yeah, I told you he could. He just needed to rest up, that's all."

"Wow…." Katara breathed, her eyes unable to stay still as she drank in the sight of the sun rising over the arctic ocean and glittering off the snow. She looked up to see the faint light of stars still twinkling in the sky high above her, the moon a thin crescent that seemed to smile down on her daughter's face. Katara laughed, giddy with joy, leaning over the edge of the saddle to watch the landscape pass by beneath her. "It's so beautiful!"

"The spoils of being an airbender," Aang agreed. He watched Katara out of the corner of his eye as he directed Appa, smiling as her face lit up with glee, and frowning as she shivered involuntarily. "Are you cold?" he asked her, suddenly worried.

Katara smiled, but shivered again. Laughing embarrassedly, she sat back down into the saddle and wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled her legs close to her body. "Yeah, I guess so," she admitted a little sheepishly. "It's colder up here than I thought it would be."

"You're right. I'm so sorry, Katara, I completely forgot." He let Appa have the reins for a little while and clambered into the saddle with the Water Tribe girl. He reached into an all-but-forgotten saddlebag from all that time ago and pulled out a thin traveling blanket. "It's not much," he admitted, "but we monks don't own a lot of stuff…." He offered it to her with an apologetic smile. Katara took it and nodded gratefully.

"Thanks, Aang." She wrapped it around herself, then looked him up and down with a critical eye. "Why aren't you cold?" she asked suddenly, sounding almost offended by his imperviousness to the cold. "You're just wearing robes, and I have a parka meant to keep me warm Arctic winters. You should be a little frozen blue boy by now."

Aang laughed. "I'm an airbender. I can bend the air around me to keep myself warm. You learn that really early on up at the temples. They're so high up, it's cold there all the time." He laughed. "Gyatso wouldn't teach me anything if I was shivering. He said that keeping warm had to be like breathing…." He stopped, realizing Katara was staring at him. "What?"

She shook her head, her gaze drifting down over the edge of the saddle to watch the ocean slip by beneath her. "Nothing," she said. "It's just hard to believe that airbenders still exist. All my life I'd been told that they were all wiped out in the first wave of the war."

Aang grimaced, and made his way back to Appa's head, his hands tightening into fists at his side. "Don't worry, Katara. I'm going to find out where my people are hiding. I  _know_ they're not all dead." His eyes fixed ahead of him, knowing that somewhere in the distance was the Southern Air Temple where he had grown up. Good or not, he knew that he would find his answer there. And until then, he had to keep his hopes up. They couldn't all be dead. He sighed, and whispered the thought out loud. "They  _can't_  be."

* * *

"Again."

Zuko gritted his teeth at the sound of the cool voice interrupting his kata  _yet again,_  but didn't say anything. He straightened, lowering his arms to his side slowly and turning to his uncle. "What was wrong with it?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice calm.

"You expect strength in firebending to come from physical strength," Iroh said, over the rim of his tea cup. "But fire comes from the breath, the flow of your movements, and a solid stance. These are  _basics,_ Prince Zuko. You're being sloppy." He sipped at it, glaring at Zuko. " _Again._ "

The prince stifled a sigh and moved into position, facing off the three men in front of him. He took a deep breath and whirled into the kata. He swung out an arc of flames at the Marines, who had foolishly clumped together, forcing them to retreat a step. Their arms swung up and they blasted columns of fire at him. Zuko rolled into a summersault to duck under the fire, swinging one leg up to disrupt the attacks and continuing the kick to land both feet on the deck. He went to punch fire at the Marines when he felt heat on the back of his clothes. He froze and turned around, faced with the calm mask of another Marine. The other man distinguished the flames that hadn't quite touch Zuko, straightening from its stance.

"Match," he declared calmly as he bowed.

Zuko spluttered and pushed him out of the way, walking up to Iroh. "What is the meaning of this?"

Iroh eyed him coolly. "Always know your surroundings, Prince Zuko. You let an enemy sneak up behind you. A fatal error."

"It was dishonorable!" Zuko argued.

"Do you think a battle field is honorable?" Iroh yelled, rising to his feet and setting the tea carefully down on the table. "Do you think an Earth Kingdom soldier will hesitate to strike you down from the back? Do you think a Wolf Warrior would have any problems killing you while you're unaware? Because you are Prince does not mean that every enemy you ever go up against will be following the rules of an Agni Kai!"

Zuko let fire escape between his knuckles, glaring furiously. "Don't you  _ever_  think that  _I_ wish to follow those rules," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. He turned his back on his Uncle and approached the fourth man until his face was inches from his. "You wanna join in the fun? Fine with me." He nodded in Iroh's direction. "But you heard the man. No guarantees, right?"

The marine, eyes wide, nodded a little. Zuko smirked.

He backed away and took his stance again, taking several calming breaths. He ran over all the basics he had ever learned in his head, reminding himself of everything he needed to do. After a second of review, he looked sharply at Iroh and nodded. Iroh raised an eyebrow and sat back down, picking up his tea cup again. He sighed and shook his head disbelievingly, but raised his glass as if toasting the fight. "Begin."

Zuko took a deep breath, gathering his chi, and suddenly a phrase from training years ago floated back to him.  _Smooth and flowing… like water._  Normally, he would have pushed the thought away, some subconscious memory of a long-gone conversations bringing up the image of his mother in his mind. But his savvy eyes took in the threatening stance of the other four men, and suddenly, he knew that there wouldn't be any fooling around in this circumstance.

_Sorry, Mom._

Zuko had gone over the form a hundred times, a slight change each time, but doing it had never felt so… right. He swung his leg up into an arc, which the marines had been expecting. They took a measured step back to avoid the flame and raised their arms to attack as soon as the heat had dissipated. But Zuko continued the motion of his leg and flipped into a handspring, fire shooting from his feet continuously. The marines had no choice but to scatter before the attack, and Zuko landed lightly on his toes and looked around.

 _Shit,_  he thought.  _Two on either side. Time to improvise._

Deviating from the original form, Zuko's arms shot up to his side and he let out a stream of fire from both hands, keeping all four marines at bay. He carefully stepped back, letting the columns shorten and allowing his opponents to advance in time with him. In a few seconds, they were all in front of him in a traditional line. Zuko couldn't help a small smirk.

He gathered his chi into his feet with a careful breath and flung himself into a leap over the marines' heads, keeping a steady defensive string of fire at the men beneath him. He landed behind them, and they had only halfway turned around. Zuko grabbed the nearest man by the back of his uniform and picked him up, flinging him into the second man, who fell onto the third, who stepped back onto the fourth. In the rush to get untangled, Zuko stepped closer and held his hands out in the ready position, poised to strike at all of them in a single blow.

He watched the marines' faces turn up, and realization settle into their eyes.

"Cede," he ordered calmly.

They said nothing, watching him under red and white helmets. Zuko let his hand slip an inch forward.

"Cede," he repeated, more insistently, more quietly.

"I cede," the first marine spoke up softly. He picked himself up, casting an apologetic look at the others, and brushed off his uniform. "Thank you for the match," he said formally, bowing. Zuko realized that he was the man who had attacked him from behind the first time, and he drew himself up to his full height.

"I wish I could say it was a challenge," he said haughtily. To his surprise, the marine laughed.

"Yeah, me too," the marine admitted. He reached up and pulled off his helmet, short cropped brown hair tumbling out. "Sorry, Sir."

Izo grinned at Zuko, who could only stare silently into familiar gold eyes.

"I must get back to my station now, Sir," he said, bowing again. He walked away. Zuko turned his smoldering glare to the others.

"Any rematches?" he asked threateningly.

"No, Sir!" they mumbled, quickly getting to their feet and hurrying away. Zuko rounded on Iroh, who smiled calmly at him and sipped his tea. The prince was suddenly there and he knocked the cup out of his Uncle's hand, the porcelain shattering on the metal deck.

"What was that about?" he growled, so that only Iroh could hear. "Izo isn't a marine anymore, he shouldn't be part of sparring lessons." His Uncle stared mournfully at the shards for a second, then turned his elderly face to his nephew.

"You did surprisingly well, Prince Zuko," he said, smoothly avoiding his question. "I'm proud of you. You're bending was impressive."

Zuko stopped, anger quickly evaporating. He struggled to cling to the remaining strands. "You didn't answer my question," he hissed. It didn't even sound upset to him. Iroh just smiled knowingly, reached up, and patted Zuko on the head. Zuko was horrified at the stifled laughs of marines, and he froze for a second. Finally, he straightened up and turned away.

"Captain!" he called, stalking primly for the hold. "There had better be food in my room when I get there!"

Iroh watched him retreat for a second, his back stiff, and he let out a small chuckle.


	12. Clash

Sokka had been working on carefully reconstructing his watch tower all morning. He had been muttering dark words under his breath that Gran-Gran would have smeared seal-penguin soap onto his tongue for had she been around to hear him. Thankfully, she was in as dark a mood as he, and after threatening to ready her canoe and leave after her granddaughter – which a friend of Sokka's mother managed to talk her out of – she had stormed back into her tent, presumably to begin making dinner and stretching out the hides the women had caught on their last hunt.

Sokka was the only one outside that morning, probably due to the relentless wind blowing in from the north. Even the children had decided to move their games inside, and their mothers had stoked the fires in the tents and set about working. Sokka, however, was on the outskirts of his village, laboring to set the snow into hard blocks and lay them on top of each other.

It was because of that that he was the only one to notice as the first flakes of black snow drifted to the ground.

Sokka watched them in solemn silence for a long second, not daring to believe his eyes. He hesitantly stuck out his tongue and waited until one of the abnormal specks landed. His eyes widened and he instantly regretted the decision. "Oh, yuck, yuck…!" He picked up white snow and rubbed it all over his face and mouth, trying to erase the taste of coal from his tongue. After a second, his frantic movements slowed and he got to his feet with an angry sigh, running to a familiar tent set in the middle of the village, strongly scented smoke curling from the top. He pushed through the tent flap numbly.

"Gran-Gran."

The old woman turned, her mouth already open with an order to leave a working woman already on her tongue. She took in Sokka's stunned expression and stood immediately, striding to his side and gripping his arm in a hard grip. "What is it, boy?" she demanded.

"Black snow," he said dully.

Gran-Gran stared at him in silence for a long second, wondering if perhaps her old ears were playing tricks on her. "Black snow," she finally repeated.

Sokka nodded, his eyes not quite focused on her.

Gran-Gran did nothing for a moment, then grabbed Sokka's other arm and gave him a hard shake, snapping him out of his strange reverie. "Come on, Sokka. Aren't you always saying you're the man of the village now? You've got to live up to that name." She swallowed and looked him in the eye, cold blue on cold blue. She nodded at the tent flap again. "Go get ready." Her voice was as hard as usual, no fear of his death creeping into her tone.

Sokka shook his head once as if throwing off sleep. "You're right," he allowed. He spun around and pushed most of the way out of the tent, turning back at the last second with his finger in the air thoughtfully. "Gran-Gran, get all the women and children together and tell them what's happening. I want them by the main fire with hunting knives under their parkas. If worst comes to worst, they'll know what to do." He took another half step out, then stopped again. "And tell Guttu to stand watch on the hill to the west of the village, and run back and tell me when the ship passes him. And that he can't take any of the other boys. If you say they need to stay back and protect their mothers, it should work. Thanks, Gran…." With that said, Sokka finally left.

Gran-Gran stood in his absence, the sound of stewing sea prunes bubbling in the pot behind her the only noise in the tent. Finally, with a small, sad smile and shake of her head, she followed her grandson out into the cold and swirling flurries of ashen grey snow.

* * *

"Katara." A hand shook her shoulder gently. "Katara, we're almost there."

She cracked one sleepy eye open to see Aang's familiar pale face beaming down at her. She sat up, yawning and rubbing sleep from her eyes. "What?" she asked, her voice scratchy. "We're there?"

"Almost," Aang corrected cheerfully. He backed away from her and returned to Appa's head, grabbing the reins – though there really wasn't any need to, seeing as the bison knew exactly where he was going. "You're about to see the Southern Air Temple, Katara."

Groggy-eyed, she didn't seem terribly excited. "What time is it?"

Aang looked up and shielded his eyes with his hand, peering at the sun. "Ten in the morning… maybe half-past."

Katara smiled at him leaned over the edge of the saddle, as had become habit whenever she had a free moment. She saw the sun's reflection glimmer in the water and smiled dreamily. "Amazing," she muttered. "Who knew the ocean was so beautiful."

"You didn't?" Aang asked from his seat.

"Are you kidding!" Katara exclaimed, settling back down into the saddle and pulling Aang's blanket over her shoulders. "The ocean isn't pretty when you live in the South Pole. Fall in, and you die of cold in less than a minute. Get to close to the edge, and the ice might crack under you. Or a giant whale-lion jump out and eat you. Or… a battalion of Fire Nation ships see you and decide to raid your village." She looked at her hands, her cheeks turning pink with anger, or fear – Aang couldn't decide which. "And if you're out in your boat it's even worse," she continued. "You can't see the icebergs under the water until they tear your canoe in half and dump you in the water. Sometimes, the current gets out of control in one place and slams you into who knows how big a wall of ice. The ice fields are treacherous even for us, and everybody in the village knew how to sail since they were four." She drew her legs up close to her body and rested her chin on her knees. "So no, the ocean isn't a nice pretty thing for me."

Aang was silent for a long second, trying to digest everything Katara had said. "Geez, I'm sorry, Katara," he finally said, for a lack of anything else.

"'Bout what?"

"…Nothing. Just seemed like a mean place to grow up."

"That's true," Katara said with a little laugh. "But living like that makes you stronger. That's why the men are called Wolf Warriors. They are strong, fierce, brave, and most importantly, they never give up. They wouldn't be like that if they grew up in some prissy little house where they never had to do a lick of work."

"So… all your men are warriors?" Aang asked, a little hesitantly. "How can that be? I mean, aren't there men in your village that are just… men? That just… tell stories to the kids, and have their children help them?"

Katara raised an eyebrow. "Why would anyone do that? They would just be lazy good-for-nothings if they never did anything and expected everyone to help them."

"But what about the old men?" Aang persisted. "Don't they get to relax?"

"Relax?" Katara snorted in disbelief. "You work until you die, and if you didn't, you would be considered weak. No Water Tribesmen would ever want to be considered weak. So they work. Besides, the men are strong up until their on their deathbeds, and then, they can have their family wait on them all they want."

Aang said nothing. Katara waited for his response for several seconds, and then finally sighed. "What?"

"Nothing," Aang said hurriedly. "It's just…" he searched for the right words. "It's just that, the whole world is always so… busy. Everyone is always fighting everyone else. Everyone has warriors, and wars, and even the women are constantly working…. No one takes the time to just sit back and enjoy life."

Katara gave him a meaningful sidelong glance that seemed to say, Who has time for that? Aang caught it and sighed.

"Why is the world so violent?" he muttered, half-hoping that she would hear. Unfortunately, she did.

"What?" Katara burst, suddenly angry. "Did you expect our men to just ignore the war? Did you expect us not to want to fight the Fire Nation after everything they did? Peace is great, Aang, but justice is better."

"Peace is better than anything!" Aang cried, then realized he had yelled at his guest. Katara stared at him silently in surprise, and he let Appa have the reins for the last few minute ride to the temple, clambering back into the saddle. "In the Air Temples," he explained, "the monks had a rigid daily routine. Every morning precisely at dawn they would begin chanting to the Sky Lord. After three hours, everyone would go to the dining hall and eat breakfast. After that, if you were a Novice, you would go to train with the Elders in the courtyard until mid-afternoon. The other monks would read in the library, or pray, or work on calligraphy…." Aang trailed off, realizing that Katara was staring at him with her mouth open. "What?"

She closed her mouth and raised an eyebrow. "That," she said, "is exactly the prissy little house I was talking about before."

"We need to work!" Aang argued. "After training you always had to do your shift. It could be cooking one week, cleaning the next, doing laundry, harvesting from the orchard, working the boiler… a lot of things!"

"You never need to go out in a canoe and kill enough fish to feed the whole village while avoiding giant killer mammals under your boat."

"So! We lived on a cliff! One misstep and,  _WHOOO_!" He motioned falling with his hand, making a little whistling sound. "You're gone."

Katara opened her mouth, thought, closed it again. "I hadn't thought of that. How do children even live up there?"

"They don't," Aang said, sounding a little smug that Katara had ceded to him. "Novices can't enter the order until they're eight, if they're male. Older if they're female."

"Well, what do they do until then? Stay inside all day?"

Aang shrugged. "They're infants. The bhikkuni take care of them." He caught Katara's blank look. "Nuns," he explained. "They live at the Eastern and Western temples. Monks are only allowed there on the solstices. During the winter solstice, there's a big festival, and the monks and nuns have to stay up all night to keep the evil spirits away. The summer solstice is when we visit to pick up any of the eligible males." Aang pouted. "I never got to go to a Winter Festival. You're not allowed to until you turn 16. Any younger and you get bundled into the monastery in your temple with all the other Novices and you have to pray all night long."

"What about the girls?" Katara asked quietly. "You monks visit the nuns' temples, and then come back a few years later to pick up the boys. What about the girls?"

Aang tilted his head and looked at her. "The girls never leave the temples," he explained, as if it was obvious. "Unless they are sent on a diplomacy mission, or something. Mostly, they just spend their lives in the temples, ordain when they reach a certain age, and…." Aang trailed off, shrugging. Katara gave him a hard, pointed look for a long second, then turned her back to him and rested her arms on the edge of the saddle, looking down at the ocean below.

"Sounds… like a prison."

Aang, stung, opened him mouth to argue, but after a moment's consideration reluctantly closed it again. Katara was from another culture, after all. Gyatso had always taught him that every culture was different, and that others had to respect each for what it was worth, and to learn to move past those differences. He wasn't going to try and force the nomadic way on a Water Tribe girl. But… the opposite should be true as well. "Katara," he said, quietly, "please respect my culture."

Katara nodded, not turning to look at him. After a second, she spoke, so low Aang almost missed it. "I will, Aang. I'm sorry if I sounded rude before. But the way you talked about peace like it was the only option… the Fire Nation killed my mother.  _My mother_. I will never be happy until the people responsible for her death are dead or in prison, and I don't think peace is going to do that. …That's all."

Aang swallowed, for once feeling the cold. He wished he had known earlier, not made Katara have to say those words out loud. Gyatso used to say, "Revenge is a poison – even speaking of it burns the tongue." The awkward silence between them dragged on, growing heavy as Aang tried to think of something to say. Finally, he stood up with a fake little laugh. "Well, Katara," he said, his voice falsely cheery, "we're finally here."

* * *

"How was training today, Sir?"

" _Shut the hell up, Izo_."

Izo laughed, keeping his eyes fixed on the iceberg-scattered waters before him. "Of course, Sir. My apologies."

"Sorry, yeah right…." Zuko muttered, swirling the remnants of jasmine tea in his tin cup sullenly while lounging in his chair. "I bet you two thought it was just hilarious to pull that on me, didn't you?" He raised his eyes to his Uncle, glaring with intent to kill.

Iroh smiled from his regular seat at the Pai Sho table, pointedly ignoring his look. "Hilarious? Hm…." He hummed thoughtfully and laid down a tile.

"Yep!" Izo interrupted cheerfully, and then laughed. "You had no clue, the look on your face was priceless…."

"You're not a Marine anymore, Helmsman," Zuko snapped. "You don't have the responsibilities or the privileges of one, so stop sneaking around and doing things that are against the law. That's what got you jailed last time, if I need to remind you. That's the reason I'm stuck with you on this miserable trip; which, trust me, is not something I enjoy."

"Privileges? Like getting my but kicked by a kid five years younger than me is a privilege." Izo smiled to take the bite out of his words, and Zuko had to remind himself that he really hated him.

"Show a little respect to your Prince, helmsman," Zuko growled, "or I'll kick it again."

"…Of course, Sir. My apologies."

Zuko fought with a smile, instead settling in a firm frown. When Izo just as firmly ignored it, he sighed and settled back down in his seat. "How long?" he asked bluntly.

Izo's smile faded a little and he turned the wheel. "An hour. Maybe two."

The Prince sat up straighter, setting his now-empty cup on the table in front of him. He ran his hands over his eyes and rubbed tiredness out of them. His energy from earlier that morning was fading, replaced by a swirling mix of apprehension, excitement, and fatigue. "What time is it now?" he asked.

Izo tilted his head up and peered out the guardhouse window. "I'd say around noon, Sir."

"Good. Full speed ahead – I want to get there as soon as possible. If we time it right, the sun should be at the right angle to glint off the ship and hopefully impair the enemy's vision."

"Yes Sir."

"Uncle – I want five marines fed and battle-ready by the time we get there."

Uncle twitched and looked at him appraisingly. "Five, Prince Zuko? Are you sure you want such a small number?"

"A smaller attack force will be best," Zuko confirmed, taking a deep breath and standing. "I want you to gather them and send them to me as soon as possible so that I can give them a run-down of the plan. Anything larger than a six-man team would be harder to manage."

Iroh's eyes widened a little bit at his nephew's strategizing, but he still didn't rise from his game. "I don't have to remind you that this is the _Avatar_  you're facing, Prince Zuko," he said, looking up into the young man's face.

"No," Zuko said coldly, staring back. "You don't." He strode to the door, and called over his shoulder, "Do as I ask, Uncle… please."

The door closed with a hollow thud behind him. In the surprised silence left after the Prince's unexpected last remark, Iroh rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to ignore the worried stare of the cook. After a second and a heavy sigh, he looked over his palms to the elderly man. "Well, you heard the Prince," he said. "Five meals – go prepare them immediately."

The cook gave him a wry half-smile. "And about twenty more?"

Iroh grinned back. "You read my mind, Chao. Off with you."

The cook stood and gave Iroh a small bow before leaving. Izo didn't dare take his eyes off the dangerous waters, but managed to make Iroh notice his eyebrow-raised expression. "I'm afraid that Chao is the only one with that ability, General. What are you planning?"

"Planning?" Iroh laughed. "You make it sound like I'm doing something bad, Izo. I only mean to keep some men in reserves. Prince Zuko is smart, and he may have a plan, but a strike force of six men will still have a difficult time capturing the Avatar. If… things go badly… Zuko will have other men to back him up."

"You included?"

"Of course."

"… And me?"

"As far as the Prince is concerned, no." Iroh said. For a second, Izo forgot his rule of constant vigilance and glared at the General until the older man laughed. "Don't worry, Helmsman," Iroh half-whispered conspiratorially. "The Prince doesn't have to know  _everything_."

* * *

The war paint was unexpectedly cold against his face, surprisingly wet. Though he had put it on the tips of his fingers without hesitation, smearing it across his cheeks and eyelids was a different story, and he flinched away from the touch at first. But after a moment, Sokka gritted his teeth and dipped his fingers in the paint again. Anyone who couldn't manage a little ice water on their face could hardly be called a Wolf Warrior.

When he was finished, he looked around his tent, memorizing every feature of his home. His eyes fall on his sister's bed, still rumpled from her sleeping there last night, from being forcefully dragged away from it. Odd, he hadn't thought that little boy capable of carrying someone as strong as his sister….

With sudden realization, his eyes widened. They flicked across the tent to the chest that held her clothes, a small gasp escaping with the sight that met his careful scrutiny.

It was cracked open.

Sokka stared at it numbly for a long second, his mind whirring. After a second he sighed and hung his head, shaking it. His sister had left of her own will. What had she been thinking? Did she want to die? Running off with some Fire Nation spy and not telling him anything… didn't she remember Mom?

Sokka stood up abruptly, grabbing his boomerang and glaring at it. He couldn't cry, not right now. Not with war paint on. His only option left was to fight. No matter what it took, he would get her back. If it meant dragging her back to the village forcefully… if it meant taking down the creep with her… if it meant taking on the whole Fire Nation on his own… he would do it.

* * *

"Umm… Aang? You can put me down now."

Aang blushed, realizing that he had been holding Katara for several seconds longer than a chivalrous catch from Appa dictated. He set her down and coughed into his hand. "Right… er, sorry."

"What's the plan?" she asked, unperturbed.

Aang ignored he question for a moment and put a hand on Appa's forehead, looking him in the big brown eye. "Hey, buddy. You mind taking a look at the bison caves for me? And the orchards?"

Appa grumbled, sounding surprisingly like a thunder cloud, and swished his powerful tail once. He lifted himself into the air and turned around, setting off towards an adjacent mountainside at an ambling pace. Aang watched him go for a second before turning back to Katara. "Appa will see if anyone is hiding out in those places," he assured with a wide smile. "Katara… would you do me a favor too?"

"Sure, Aang. 'Course." She smiled back, pulling Aang's blanket tight around her shoulders with a little shiver. "What is it?"

"I need you to check all the rooms on this level for any sign of airbenders. The doors should all be unlocked. If you find anything that might be useful, just drop it off here, okay?"

"Sure." Katara turned around, determined to help her new friend in return for taking her to the North Pole. Aang's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Oh, and one more thing?" He stepped up to her and turned her around, grabbing the blanket and pulling it together around her neck. "Here you go!"

When Katara looked down, she saw a thin silver clip pinning the two corners of the blanket together. It was a small pin, in the shape of a cloud with a spiral embossed in the center. Aang let it go and smiled at her. "Now you don't have to hold the blanket all the time!"

Katara reached up and touched the pin reverently. The metal was cool and smooth under her fingers. After admiring the delicacy, she lifted her face and beamed at Aang. "Thanks!"

"No problem," Aang replied, obviously pleased with himself.

"Um… what are you going to be doing?"

His smile faltered, and he gripped his staff a little tighter. "I need to check something out. Something Gyatso told me long ago. If you don't find anything, you should just wait here for Appa to get back. I don't know when I'll be done, so if I'm not back before you, he'll be able to find me. The temple's pretty big, and what I have to be in the center of it."

"Why? What are you doing?" Katara asked hesitantly.

Aang raised an eyebrow pensively. "Honestly? I don't know." He smiled, showing that he wasn't worried by his lack of knowledge. "But hopefully it will get us some answers, yeah?" With that, he formed an airball, laid his staff across his legs, and zoomed into the depths of the Temple.

Katara watched him, feeling her heart wrench with sympathy. She thought she already knew the answers he searched for. But, she gritted her teeth and set off with a determined stride.  _A little water tribe savage can't know everything,_  she told herself.  _If there's something you can give to Aang, it's proof his people are alive._

* * *

"Soooooooookkaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

The boy turned his head to see Gutta running towards him, occasionally stumbling over his own feet in his haste to get through the snow and back to the village. Finally, he made it to Sokka's side, and doubled over, putting his hands on his knees. He couldn't talk for a few seconds, huffing in little breathless clouds. When he straightened, his young brown eyes were wide with fear, tears threatening to spill over. "Sokka, it's here! It's here!"

Sokka put a gloved hand on Gutta's head, and his sobbing stopped at once. He knelt down until he was eye level with the little boy and gave him a strained smile. "Show no fear," he reminded gently.

Gutta stared at him, lip quivering. After a moment, he gritted his teeth, and puffed out his chest, trying to look brave. "Right!" he cried. "No fear!" Tears still hovered stubbornly.

Sokka smiled a little wider and ruffled the boy's hair. "You did well. Now, I have another job for you."

Gutta nodded severely, clenching tiny hands into fists at his side.

"Go back to the other boys, and remind them that they have to protect the women and children. That is your job too. Understood?"

"But what about you?" Gutta's high voice shook.

"My job too," Sokka agreed, standing up. "But not in the same way. Now, go on." He gestured with his head back to the center of the village.

"But-"

"No potty breaks!"

"… Yes sir!" Gutta reached up and touched the black paint around Sokka's eye. He opened his mouth to say something, but instead just turned and ran.

Sokka swallowed and told himself that everything would work out. He closed his eyes, drumming his fingers against his leg absently as he thought.

_I have… less than five minutes until the ship gets here, depending on the model. It can't be moving terribly quickly, considering how long ago the black snow first appeared._

Not for the first time, Sokka silently cursed not having any – even slightly – older warriors, someone who might have been able to scout how many marines were on the ship and how big it was.

_I guess I'll just have to play it by ear, then._

He looked around him. One half-reconstructed watchtower to the right, some igloos behind him, a knoll to the left, and in front of him, the bay.  _Not much to go off of, defensively or offensively. The Marines on board have the upper hand if they fight from the ship, since they have long-distance attacks and I'll be on lower ground. When they get off the ship, it depends on how many there are. A small number, and I might be able to surprise attack with boomerang and knock out some of them. A large number… my only hope is that they attack one-on-one._

Sokka considered his plan, feeling himself grow more and more hopeless as he thought. What could he, a half-trained Wolf Warrior, do against an unknown number of elite Fire Nation Marines?

The prow of the ship peeked around the corner of the knoll to his left. Sokka hastily knelt down behind the half-built watchtower, glaring at the hated metal contraption through gaps in the snow.  _That's it. Time's up._

* * *

The sun was blindingly bright white as Zuko stepped out of the ship. He resisted the urge to raise his hand to cover his eyes, instead stoically stepping out of the shadows with the five marines just behind him. Suddenly, with a clang that reverberated through his helmet, he was thrown off the gangplank unexpectedly and fell into the snow beneath in an undignified heap. He gritted his teeth, and the snow around him melted with a sizzle.

 _He's better than I gave them credit for,_  he admitted to himself,  _using the sun's position to get in a surprise attack_. He glowered out of the slit in his helmet, peering around the snowy landscape through squinted eyes. _Good thing that only works once_.

"Sir! Are you alright?"

Zuko looked up, seeing the five marines in formation at the top of the gangplank, in ready stances. Zuko smiled darkly as the last remnants of the snow on his uniform steamed away. "Yes," he said shortly. He reached up and pulled off his dented helmet, dropping it unceremoniously on the ground at his feet. He looked around the snow beneath him for the weapon that had hit him, seeing nothing. He lowered into a fighting stance.

"A boomerang?" he called out condescendingly, searching for his opponent. "The only thing that will do is embarrass both of us. Don't you have any _real_  weapons?"

As Zuko had expected, a spear came sailing out of nowhere. When the spear was a foot from him he spun his forearm and knocked it away easily. He traced the path of the spear in his mind and his eyes fixed on the rough pile of snow to his left. He nodded at the marines and gestured at the pile with his head. They nodded back once.

"Let me repeat myself," Zuko drawled, loud enough for the enemy to hear. " _Real_. Weapons."

He didn't wait until he had finished his sentence to run at the pile full speed. He put a hand out to flip over the top, turning around at the last second to face the enemy. His hand was already out, flames halfway through his fingertips, when he took in the face before him and paused. It was a boy, even a few years younger than Zuko. Zuko sighed and lowered his hand, and the five marines that had already circled around the Wolf Warrior followed suit.

"Where is he?" Zuko demanded.

"Your little spy?" The Warrior got to his feet, glaring up at Zuko through a painted face. "Why, you're a little late. He already left."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you couldn't pick it up from the text, bhikkuni are the female airbending nuns that live in the Western and Eastern Air Temples and raise the children. The word is taken from female monks in Bhuddism. Actually, many parts of the airbender's culture comes from the lives of Bhuddist monks. Also for those who didn't quite get the hints, let's just say that certain things happen at the festival. With female and male monks involved.
> 
> Please review!


	13. Understand

Aang had to stop for a moment and stare at the ornate wood door. It towered high above him, painted in the beautiful pastel colors of the high mountain wildflowers that the pollen to make the paint was gathered from. After he had caught his breath, pushing a hundred fond memories and a typhoon of nostalgia into the back of his mind, he walked up to the door. Unfortunately, Gyatso had never been a man to be deterred, and Aang soon found his old teacher hovering in the corner of his vision.

 _Behind this door lies a secret,_  he had said, a twinkle in his eye. Aang remembered that day as if it was only a few days ago – and for Aang's consciousness, this was true, seeing as it hadn't been long before he ran away. Aang had been bored out of his mind with the day's training. Gyatso wouldn't play any games with him, not even practicing with the pies. He had decided that it would be "cultural appreciation day," or some other nonsense that Aang found as interesting as a speck on a butterbee's backside. When Gyatso had said those words, though, a slumping, preoccupied Aang had straightened up and actually started listening.

 _Unfortunately, I can't tell you what it is._  Gyatso smiled deviously, knowing that his last sentence had finally caught his ADHD pupil's attention.

 _Please, Gyatso! You can trust me!_ Aang was predictably euphoric at the thought of learning what lay behind the huge door. Odd, he had thought. He was sure he had been all around the temple before, and he had never encountered this huge and ancient relic, how had that happened…?

Gyatso had shook his head.  _You misunderstand me, Aang. I cannot tell you, because I do not know._

Aang had stopped bouncing and chattering and otherwise shamelessly begging, falling uncharacteristically silent.  _What do you mean? You know everything._

 _What I would give for that to be true, my young pupil,_  the elder had chuckled with a wry smile.  _But no. What lies behind this door is for the Avatar's eyes only._

Aang had resumed his hyperactivity.  _But_ _ **I'm**_ _the Avatar, Gyatso! Is that why you took me up here?_  The boy's grin threatened to split his face in half. _I understand now, I get to open the door!_

Gyatso smiled sadly.  _No, Aang. You should never open this door, unless in a time of dire need. I cannot tell you why this is, or what circumstances qualify – this is all I have been told._

Aang was confused.  _But, Gyatso…_

_No 'buts,' Aang. You are the Avatar now, it's time you start listening to people who know better than you and stay out of trouble. You are almost a Master, now. You **can** open these doors. But being a Master also means that you know enough  **not** to._

Aang hadn't understood. The present Aang, standing in the same place he had stood only days before and yet so long ago, hardly understood any more than he had then. In fact, the only thing running through his mind was that if waking up and discovering that you had been sealed in an iceberg for a hundred years and the world had been thrown into war, chaos and disaster while you, the only person who could supposedly bring peace and balance, had been thousands of feet underwater,  _didn't_  qualify as a situation of extreme need, Aang wasn't sure what exactly  _would._

With a deep breath, he took his stance and airbended into the horns. And, humming an earthly harmony, the doors opened… and Aang found himself face to face with rows and rows of statues. He stared in awe and confusion for a long second, seemingly unable to do anything else. After a long moment, nothing had happened. Finally, he sank to his knees just inside the doorway, head in hands. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but  _nothing_ was definately not on the list.

 _I don't understand,_  he thought bitterly.  _I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Gyatso. I wish you were here to help me._

_Ah, young one. We have waited a long time for you._

* * *

There was only a moment of pause as the two boys considered each other. Finally, Zuko spoke, his voice painted with bewilderment. "Spy? What are you talking about?"

"Oh, cut the crap already," Sokka hissed. "You and I both know who I'm talking about – that little jerk that stole my sister!"

Zuko ground his teeth together. "First of all," he growled, "if the Avatar is going around stealing young girls, than this job may be easier than I thought." His tone made his disbelief of Sokka's claim very clear. "And secondly… no one talks to the Fire Prince that way."

"Yeah, well," Sokka snorted and lowered into a defensive stance, deciding to let the matter of the spy go for the moment. He had plenty of time to make him pay after dealing with this pompous prick. "Guess what? I happen to  _be_ a nobody."

"That," Zuko said, also squatting, "is the first sensible thing you've said. If you know what's good for you, the second will be the location of where you have hidden the Avatar."

Sokka glared at him up and down, taking in his armor while he talked (and the huge, bright red scar that covered half his face.) "Do you honestly think that this  _tiny_ village-" he gestured at the small huddle of igloos behind the leader- "could  _possibly_ be hiding the Avatar? Really, if we had someone with that amount of power,  _I_ wouldn't be the one fighting you right now."

"Hmm," Zuko hummed thoughtfully, without turning, and Sokka had a moment to hope that his words had sunk in and this strange and unwanted fight would be over. The instant ended when the boy smirked and tilted his head. "You're not a bad liar," he said. "But you're no match for the Princess."

He punched out his right hand, and a burst of flame spurted from his fist. Sokka dropped to the ground, landing on his hands and kicking Zuko's ankle – where he had noticed that the only armor the Prince had on were his boots – with all his strength. Zuko fell to the side as the joint gave out, and Sokka ducked into a somersault, rolling away from the five other shots of flame fired from the circle of Marines. He came to his feet several feet away, in front of one of the igloos. He looked around warily, taking in the no-nonsense stances of the six men approaching him and silently noting that the leader was already back on his feet. Tough man.

"I can see you don't believe me," he said grimly. "That means I'll have to  _knock_  some sense into you."

The men ignored his taunt. "Where is the Avatar?" the leader demanded once more, this time his tone dangerous.

"As far as I know," Sokka said, "he's dead."

The leader shook his head, still smirking. "If that's how you wanna be," he sighed, though he didn't sound particularly put out. He held up one of his hands and gestured for two of the men behind him. "Go grab one of the women or children. We will hold them for hostage until someone talks."

The Marines nodded and started to move away.

Sokka gritted his teeth. " _Like hell you will."_

The leader leered. "Gonna stop them?"

Sokka stared back defiantly. "No; I don't have to. Those women aren't like your precious little Fire Nobles, never knowing how to cook, let alone defend themselves. My hunters can handle a few Whiteface Marines."

It was hard to tell, seeing as his battle expression was hard to read, but if Sokka had to judge by the way the leader stiffened he would guess something he had said had hit a mark. "Not all nobles are defenseless," he said quietly, his mind obviously elsewhere.

"Don't really care," Sokka drawled. "Besides, now it's down to four of you – much more manageable." He sprung into action, taking advantage of the other boy's distraction and launching into action.

He knew the only chance of making them leave was to convince them that the Avatar wasn't there. But he couldn't just let them search the village for the mysterious legend – not only would that be as weak as surrendering, but these Whitefaces would be going through everyone's personal lives, looking into things that should never be shared outside the family, let alone the clan. And besides, he remembered the last time that they had come. There was no way in Koh's dark lair that he was letting any of those damn masked faces into a family igloo if he could help it.

* * *

Katara was becoming seriously depressed.

She had searched hallways after hallways of rooms – pristine, beige-colored rooms with hardly more than a cot and a clothes chest for furniture. Some of them had a painting hanging on one wall, or a statue, or some other proof that the room had been lived in, but most were bare save cobwebs and dust. The girl found herself thinking of her own hut, where rugs covered the floors and cots while masks and totems hung from the canvas walls and wooden posts. There was barely an inch left undecorated or untouched. But, still, she had never felt crowded. She had felt at home.  _These_ rooms felt like the people had barely lived there at all.

The first room she had come to, she had walked inside. Curious, she had opened the chest sitting inconspicuously at the foot of the thin cot to be greeted by a small pile of yellow and orange robes, a plain wood-bound book, and a pair of reins. She picked up the reins and tested them in her hands, deciding after short but thorough inspection that they were  _not_ leather – or at least, not like the leather she made back home. They seemed similar to the ones wrapped around Appa's horns, yet somehow different… she made a mental note to ask Aang about it later, reverently lowering the artifact back into the chest. She didn't touch the clothes, but instead went for the book. She hesitated with her hands barely inches from the cover, and after a moment she slammed the chest closed and hurried out of the room.

It really wasn't her business.

After that, Katara didn't touch anything in the room. She knew this was probably counter-productive, since Aang  _had_ told her to search the living quarters for any sign of life.

Still, she was sure he meant  _recent_  life. Not the dust-covered possessions of people from a culture that was barely remembered. What she was looking for, she would be able to see without laying her fingers on a thing. Sighing, Katara laid her fingers on the doorframe of yet another empty room. The bed was as neatly made as all the others, and a wall hanging lay forlornly on the opposite wall. Katara moved across the room to read the neat, tiny script.

Inscribed under a willow tree that was bent over in the wind was a single haiku:

_Autumn leaves that fall_

_Are dead; yet somehow they can_

_Whisper as they pass._

Katara moved along the hanging, to the small pond that the willow's trailing branches barely touched.

_The wind is passing._

_But, though insubstantial, makes_

_Ripples in its wake._

A young female monk, her hair tied up into a single loop bun in the back, was holding water in her cupped hand, her gray eye reflected in the surface.

_Humans know nothing_

_Of the spirits' greater plans_

_We live as their pawns._

Katara leaned back, taking a wider look at the painting. The words were pretty, but somber, and though the painting was beautiful, the tree seemed to be crying and the woman's face was pensive. Sighing, the Watertribe girl looked around the room. Seeing no evidence that someone had lived there recently, she turned and walked out once more. She stopped at the door frame, her eye caught by her fingerprints left in the dusty wood.

There was another pair.

It was higher than hers, obviously made from someone several inches taller than she. From the size of the fingertips, she guessed it was male, but there were no guarantees. There was a thin layer of dust overlaying the print, showing that time – at least a year – had passed since whenever they had been made.

But Katara still grinned. A year was recent enough.

* * *

Sokka knew marines were good at group attacks, working as a single cohesive unit. The leader looked like another soldier, but he was the only one talking, and he had said that he was the Prince. Sokka could care less about the finer points, except that if the claim was true, he wasn't fighting four marines. He was fighting  _three_  marines and an Imperial firebender. Together, the three marines worked like a finely tuned machine, and Sokka suspected the leader was just as good by himself.

It was a bad situation. His only chance was to capture the leader and hope the Marines would listen to him when he had an important hostage.

All of these thoughts ran through the boy's head in the space of roughly half a second as he launched himself at the firebenders. He got in close enough to the leader to hinder his bending and tried to wrap a foot around his injured ankle to trip him. The leader saw the movement and brought up the foot to kick him in the head. Sokka ducked the attack and grabbed the firbender's leg as it descended, twisting it. The other boy fell to the ground with a grunt of surprise and Sokka put one knee on his back and the other on his right arm, pulling a sharpened bone clip out of his ponytail. He grabbed the phoenix tail with his other hand, pulled up the teen's head, and held the makeshift knife against his pale skin of his neck.

"Move and he dies," he said to the Marines.

"You think too highly of yourself," the leader ground out, before anyone could move. His left hand came up and grabbed Sokka by his own ponytail and yanked. Sokka's head was dragged down and the pressure he had been putting on the Prince let up. Zuko rolled over and he punched Sokka hard in the stomach. Out of breath, whatever little weight he had left to keep Zuko down was released, and the firebender jumped to his feet while throwing Sokka off, keeping a tight handle on his head.

Sokka recovered quickly, and jabbed at Zuko with the knife in his hand. Zuko avoided it easily and kicked his wrist with his good leg, barely wincing at the snapping sound. He stepped on the hand and pinned the arm to the snow, then bent over and wrenched the knife out of the younger boy's fingers with his free hand. He tossed the weapon to the Marines, one of which caught it deftly.

Sokka, wincing with pain, cursed silently for underestimating his enemy. The leader's scarred face came into view as he bent over and pulled Sokka's head up so that their eyes meet. His gold eyes were hard, and his mouth was twisted in a small, mean smile that didn't touch them.

"Let me ask one more time," he purred. "Where is the Avatar?"

* * *

_Waiting? For me?_

_Yes. We have many things to tell you._

_Will you help me?_  Aang pleaded.  _I'm the Avatar, but I don't know what I'm supposed to do. I know I'm supposed to keep the balance of the world and all that, but I don't know how to go about doing that. And apparently there's a war that's been going on for a hundred years while I was sealed in some iceberg, and now I have to save it, and I have no clue what I'm doing, I'm_ _ **only**_ _twelve…._ Aang's voice grew increasingly panicked, and suddenly a cool breeze blew through the open doorway, smelling of the soothing perfume of the blossoms just starting to bloom in the orchards outside. Aang took a deep breath and felt himself relax. The voices returned, sounding much like the breeze themselves.

 _Calm down, Avatar,_ they sung. _We will help you._

_Uhh… that's good. But, uh, who are you?_

Suddenly, the door slammed closed behind him. In the darkness, hundreds of tiny white lights flared to life, and Aang vaguely recognized them as the statues' eyes over his mounting terror.

 _Quiet, little bird,_  the voices whispered, sounding amused.  _We are_ _ **you.**_ _And we simply mean to convey a message._

Realization dawned on Aang as he looked at the faces of the statues closest to him.  _You're the previous Avatars! What did you mean, a message?_ Aang was confused, but he felt hope flare in his heart.  _From Gyatso?_

 _The name was not Gyatso,_  the voices hummed.  _He introduced himself as Iroh no Azulon of the Fire Nation._

 _Oh._  Aang couldn't help but feel disappointed. After a moment, a new thought occurred to him.  _The Fire Nation were the people that started this war. Can I trust a message from them?_

 _We believe that what he has to tell you is valuable,_  the voices said gravely.  _Will you accept it?_

 _Uh, okay._ Aang looked around the dark room at the thousands of glowing eyes, and suddenly Gyatso's words came floating back to him. 'You are the Avatar now, it's time you start listening to people who know better than you and stay out of trouble.' He blinked once, swallowing the pain of loss.  _What's the message?_

 _Close your eyes._ Aang obeyed silently, and suddenly, his mind was barraged by a torrent of images. His eyes swam with all the pictures playing in his mind in a broken story, trying to make sense of everything that was happening. It took a moment to get used to, but once he had, he knelt in the darkness and soaked up the information solemnly.

* * *

"I. Don't. Know." Sokka gritted the words out through the pain searing through his wrist and, less severely, his scalp. "Damnit, just leave my village alone!"

"No can do," Zuko said smugly. "I need to capture the Avatar, and I  _know_  he's here. You will tell me his exact location if you want to avoid a long and – well, shall we say, rather rough – search of your village. Spit it out now, or I break your other hand."

"I  _don't know!"_  Sokka yelled. Just about now, he was  _really_ wishing he did.

"You're stronger that I gave you credit for," Zuko allowed. "But really, I already have very short patience, and it's running thin. This is the last time I'm going to ask you. Where. Is. He?"

Sokka ground his teeth together to keep a whimper of pain from escaping as the leader ground his boot into his wrist with each word. He forced himself to look the firebender in the eye. "Go to hell," he spat.

The leader smirked, almost pityingly. He dropped Zuko's ponytail, casting a glance at his left hand, and shrugged. He walked away, seemingly deciding not to break it as promised. He stalked up to the other three Marines. "Search the village," he ordered. "If anyone gets in the way, stop them. Don't kill them unless you have to."

The three Marines saluted him primly and started walking towards the village. Sokka got to his feet, and the leader watched him with a condescending half-smile but wary eyes. Sokka let out a slow breath at the pain in his wrist, steeling his nerves.

"Guess it's down to one-on-one," he said, forcing his voice to be even. "These are the best odds so far."

"Give up, little boy," the scarred one encouraged, managing to sneer despite obviously being only a few years older than Sokka.

"A Wolf Warrior  _never_ gives up."

"Yeah! Show no fear!" A small voice called. Sokka half-turned to the familiar sound and caught the spear that was sailing through the air with a small smile. Gutta really did have good aim. He'd have to congratulate him for that, later. If there was a later.

"Thanks, Gutta," Sokka yelled back, returning his stare to his opponent and ignoring the knives in the wrist hanging limply at his side.

"Cute," the firebender's voice drawled. He changed his tone, sounding a little nicer. "But really, you trying to resist this is hopeless. You're just one man, and I have a shipful of trained Marines – not to mention a Lieutenant, a General, and myself. It would be a lot easier if you just let us find him."

"You can search the rest of your life, you're not gonna find him here," Sokka insisted. "And I'm not gonna let you search anyway. I remember how you Whitefaces 'searched' for waterbenders. You should have coordinated things with your spy a little better. Had you met with him before coming here, he could have told you that the Avatar is nowhere near this village."

One eyebrow twitched. "I don't know who the hell this spy you keep mentioning is."

"Oh, I think he means me."

They stared at each other for a long second, both wondering how the other had managed to change his voice so drastically. Belatedly, they realized that neither had spoken, and the voice registered in Sokka's mind. He looked up, shading his eyes against the bright sun, and saw the silhouette hovering in the sky. The glider-riding monk descended quickly, landing between the two boys.

"The Avatar." Zuko was so elated he could have burst into tears – had he not felt adrenaline pumping and telling him to  _fight. "_ You don't know how long I've waited for this." He cracked his knuckles.

 _"_ _You._ " Sokka spat the word with such hatred that the monk actually winced. He gripped the spear, pain momentarily forgotten. "Where is my sister, you piece of shit?"

Aang looked between the two of them, wondering how he had managed to get into this situation and  _why_  they both looked so bloodthirsty - for Avatar blood, nonetheless. Both boys, enemies just moments ago, leaped at the boy in the middle of their fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow. Sorry for that ridiculously long wait, my planner is probably close to breaking I've been so busy. Plus, fight scenes are hard to write - did I do a suitable job at making you visualize it?
> 
> So, some of you will most likely comment on Sokka's language this chapter. The truth is, Katara was stolen away (or so he thought) and then this Fire Nation prick shows up and starts beating him up. I wouldn't be in a very good mood either. If someone had broken my wrist and several bones in my hand, plus bruised some ribs and yanked on my hair, and someone else had kidnapped my baby sister all in the same day, I think I would swear a little too. As to why he never displayed this kind of language in the show - he's sixteen. In the situations he was in, he would have been cursing up a storm if I know teenage boys. The only reason he never did in canon is because Avatar is a children's show, and things like that have to be cut out.
> 
> Another thing to be mentioned: 'Whiteface' is a (fictional) derogatory term that the Water Tribes use for the Fire Nation. I thought I made it pretty obvious, but just to be sure...
> 
> Thanks for sticking with story, and please review!


	14. Promise

The boys felt a gush of wind as Aang rocketed into the air and out of harms reach – temporarily. Zuko skidded to a halt and shot out fire, aiming for the glider's outstretched canvas. Sokka tried to stop so he could pull out his boomerang, and only managed in running into the Fire Nation boy and making his flame fizzle out harmlessly feet away from the airbender.

Aang grinned. "Thanks, Sokka!" he said. "For a second there, I thought you were mad a-Whoah!" He narrowly avoided the boomerang, and when he looked at the ground again he noticed the firebender was back on his feet and glaring at Sokka. He pushed the younger boy away angrily.

"Stay out of this, kid," he growled. "I knew you were hiding him. Stop getting in my way and I won't hurt you even more."

"First of all, Aang is  _not_  the Avatar, and secondly, I was  _not_ hiding him!" Sokka said indignantly, cringing as his wrist protested against throwing boomerangs. "He was hiding from me!  _And_ hiding my sister from me!"

"Uh, guys?"

Two heads swung back to their target. Aang hovered in the air for a moment before hesitantly setting back down. "Can we just talk for a se-No! Talk!"

Aang ducked under the flame shot from Zuko's foot, stood up, and ducked again as he heard the whistle of the returning boomerang. Lord of the Skies, Sokka must have thrown it hard. If he didn't know better – he was Katara's brother after all, he couldn't be that bad – Aang would have guessed the boy was  _angry_ with him.

Whoah, avoid the flaming fist.  _Focus, Aang._

Aang grabbed his glider in a strong two-handed grip and spun it in a fast circle, creating a small whirlwind in front of it. The Fire Nation boy leaned against the gust and stood his ground, while Sokka was sent skidding several feet back. Aang finally stopped and held his glider like a staff. "Listen, I need to talk to you both."

"I'm not interested in conversation," the paler boy growled, before leaping into a series of complicated moves. Aang's attention had to be singularly fixed on avoiding the attacks, and it was only by narrow margins. He leaped over one ground-level flame and had to pull into a somersault to avoid a shot at his head. Finally, he came out of the somersault and swung his glider with a grunt, making a pointed spear of air that slammed into the Fire Nation boy's chest. The boy was sent backwards and landed in an undignified heap in the snow.

"Now listen up," Aang commanded to the two similarly disabled boys, unusually serious.

"We'll have plenty of time to talk when you're shut up in the brig, Avatar."

"Quit calling him that, and no, you're not shutting him up in some sea-going prison! I need to find my sister and he's the only one that can take me to her!"

"Shut up!" Aang yelled, swishing his glider and sending snow into their faces. The teens spluttered, Sokka wiping the snow off his face and leaving streaks in his paint while Zuko simply glowered and melted it away. Sokka watched the airbender, surprised at the unexpected outburst, while Zuko leapt to his feet.

"Feisty, aren't you?" Zuko asked with a twisted smile. "At least you might put up something of a fight, then. I've trained for this encounter for years, it would be a shame for it to be so easy."

"I said shut up," Aang repeated, with another pointed burst. This time, however, Zuko avoided the shot and ran at Aang. Aang spread out his glider and leapt into the air. Zuko shot fire after him and he veered away from the flame, hovering several feet away. He looked around for a place to land and settled on the remains of the watchtower. As soon as his feet touched the ground, Zuko sprung at him with fire. Aang spun away the attack with a whirlwind from his glider, and slammed the wood into the snow sternly.

"Stop," he commanded. "I will  _let_  you take me prisoner, under two conditions."

"What?" Aang heard Sokka yelp in the distance.

Zuko stopped mid-stance and cocked his head curiously. "Go on," he finally said, but he stayed in offensive position.

Aang met his gaze fearlessly. "First of all, you leave this village and all of its inhabitants alone. You tell the Fire Lord that the Southern Water Tribe has died out if you have to, anything you must to get him to never bring the war here."

Zuko shook his head again. "I will not lie to the Fire Lord," he said sternly. Aang shrugged.

"Whatever you have to do," he reiterated. "If you won't lie, then don't, but you are to leave this village alone."

Zuko considered it silently for several long seconds. "What is the second condition?" he asked, neither accepting nor denying the first.

"You let me talk to you once I am shut away in the brig," Aang said. "I need to discuss things with you."

"That's all? Very well," Zuko said. He straightened up and held out his hand imperiously. "This is a promise made between two honorable men," he said stiffly. "If you break it, I will hunt you down and kill you."

Aang looked the taller man in the eye, seeing the scar but not judging. Kuzon had said the same thing once… and Aang hadn't ever thought about breaking his promise when those gold eyes bore into him like smoldering coals. The Firenation, for all their evils, held personal honor above all else. "Agreed," he said gravely, and he held out his hand.

"Wait," Sokka said suddenly, rising to his feet. Both boys froze and stared at him as he winced at the pain in his wrist, his vision blurred with black spots. He gripped his arm to stabilize the bones and walked up to the duo. Zuko growled and lit flame in his hand at his approach, but Aang coughed and glared at him, and Zuko remembered the first condition. With a sigh, he extinguished the flame and settled on trying to kill the boy with a glower.

"What is it, Sokka?" Aang asked, pointedly ignoring Zuko.

"Are you… really…the Avatar?"

Aang paused, his eyes clouding over with a memory. He shook his head, and when he met the Watertribe boy's eyes he gaze was steady. "Yes."

Sokka nodded slowly and took a breath. "I'm going to trust your word, though I can't imagine why I should." He seemed to strengthen his resolve and straightened, pulling his shoulders back. "And since I am, I can't let you give yourself up to the Fire Nation," he finally said. With a small smile, he added, "Especially considering you're the only one who knows where my sister is."

"You're not included in this agreement," Zuko ground out, before Aang could say anything, "except as part of your village. The bargain was that I leave you alone. So you had best do the same for me, before I lose my temper with you."

"The Avatar," Sokka said slowly, shaking his head. "Sorry," he said to Zuko, though his tone was anything but apologetic. "It looks like I  _was_  hiding him. Well, why do the job halfway? If you were fighting me for the Avatar, I might as well live up to the reason."

"I don't need your protection, Sokka," Aang said quietly.

"Well… you're getting it anyway," Sokka blurted.

"No. You're in no shape." Aang laid a hand on his shoulder, unusually severe. "Trust me. I'll be fine."

"You don't know the Fire Nation," Sokka said so softly it was barely a whisper. Aang watched his face, the sadness and fear in the smeared streaks of paint, and then turned to look at Zuko. The Prince's expression was one of barely disguised impatience and anger, and Aang shook his head sadly.

"No," Aang agreed. "But I do know him." The monk looked at the firebender, and with a small smile did a little half-bow, almost mocking. " _Prince Zuko._ "

Silence stretched between the three boys for a long second. Finally, Sokka laughed.

"Do you two know each other?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," Aang chirped.

"No!" Zuko snorted.

They looked at each other, one with a firm frown and the other a small smile.

"That's not very clear," Sokka complained.

"I don't know anything except that he is the Avatar, and he's coming with me. If you want to tell me just what you know about  _me_ , including how you know it, then we can talk when you're in my ship. Just like we agreed."

"I want an explanation!" Sokka protested.

"Sorry, but I don't listen to demands from peasants," Zuko leered. He grabbed Aang's arms and twisted them behind him, holding them in a firm grip. Aang didn't struggle.

"Private!" Zuko hollered. "The Avatar has been collected. We're leaving now."

The six marines appeared out of nowhere and marched up to Zuko primly. Sokka could hear the faint sobs of the women in roughly the direction the Marines had emerged from, and he felt rage bloom in his heart. "Ready to depart, Sir," Private Hiroto said crisply.

Without another word, Zuko turned on his heel, pushing Aang in front of him, and walked the boy up the ramp and onto the ship. Aang turned around for a brief last look at Sokka, his eyes wide but comforting, and nodded once as if to say,  _I'll be fine._

Sokka gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the spear. He threw it at the closing entrance to the ship, desperately aiming for any one of the Whitefaces. It clanged harmlessly against the metal as the gangplank slammed closed and locked Aang in the ship's hollow depths. He swore silently under his breath, painting a colorful stream of profanities, before spinning and stalking towards the center of the village. His people came first. There was one little boy that needed a thorough congratulation, and some mothers who needed serious comforting.

Then he would go after Aang.

* * *

"This staff will make an excellent gift for my father," Zuko purred, holding out the glider in front of him and examining it with relish.

"It's not actually a staff," Aang said brightly. "It's a glider, and-"

"And you will be the number one prize anyway," Zuko interrupted. He rubbed the weapon against his palms, weighing it and taking figures in his head for just how much it was worth. After a moment, he said, "Maybe the staff will be for my sister. After all, the Avatar is plenty bounty to pay to the Fire Lord."

"Uh… yeah, I guess," Aang said. He wished he could have the comforting feel of the wood in his hands, but seeing as his hands were currently tied behind his back with an uncomfortable metal rope, it didn't really matter anyway. He squirmed against his bonds, catching Zuko's eye once more.

"Take the prisoner down to the brig," Zuko ordered the two Marines holding him. "And take this," he shoved the glider at Iroh, "to my quarters. I will be discussing our course with Izo." He stalked away primly, trying to keep his grin in check.

"Shit!" One of the Marines standing behind Aang suddenly swore softly, and Aang turned around to see his retreating form as he ran towards the wheel house, ducking into the shadows and apparently hiding from the Prince as he struggled to pull off his uniform. The old man holding his staff laughed, a hand on his expansive girth. Aang turned back to him, thoroughly confused.

"What's so funny?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing, Avatar," the old man said, his laughter dying out but his smile remaining. He nodded to the Marines holding his shoulders. "You heard the Prince, take the prisoner to the brig." He turned to a third Marine and held out Aang's glider. "And would you mind taking this to Prince Zuko's quarters for me?"

"No Sir," the Marine said, stepping forward. After taking the staff, he disappeared below deck, and soon Aang was being roughly pushed after him.

"Hey!" He stumbled, his face coming within feet of the metal deck. The Marines caught him just before the painful impact could occur and hauled him back up into a standing position, but Aang shook off their hands. "I can walk for myself," he said indignantly.

The Marines shared a brief, considering look before nodding. "Very well," one of them said, his voice metallic under his helmet. "Walk fast then,  _Avatar."_

"I can't believe this is it," the other one muttered under his breath. "Three years for a friggin twelve-year-old…."

"What?" Aang sounded appropriately insulted, but walked towards the dark hole the first Marine had disappeared into anyway, flanked by the guards. "I'm not just any twelve-year-old, you know."

"Yeah. Normal twelve-year-olds aren't the Firenation's number one enemy," one Marine drawled sarcastically.

"Or the Prince's number one enemy," the other quipped. "I can't say I envy you, Avatar. He can be downright terrifying sometimes." He shivered involuntarily at some unknown memory.

"It's the scar," the first one reasoned. "Makes him look like he's about to do the same thing to you."

"Must be it."

Several seconds passed by as the Marines walked in silent consideration. By then, the three were well into the dark hallways of the ship, and Aang looked around him with a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" one of the Marine's growled roughly with a shove, oddly echoing Aang's own words.

Aang stumbled, but recovered himself. "Nothing!" he said quickly. "Just let me ask you something: can normal twelve-year-olds do this?" He turned to one of the Marines, took a deep breath and let it out. The Marine was sent flying into the wall and hit his head, falling to the floor cold with a double thud. Aang rocketed backwards from the force of his shot and into the second Marine, who hit the opposite wall and was knocked out. Aang gusted air out of his hands while he ran a few steps back to the deck in an attempt to pull free of his bonds, only to cry out and fall to the floor as they tightened around his wrists.

"What the…?" He tried peering over his shoulder, but couldn't see well enough and couldn't figure out why the rope was still there when he should have been able to blow it off his wrists.

"Never dealt with pirates, have you, Avatar?"

Aang winced at the sound of the cool voice. He looked up, his heart beating faster, and saw the Prince standing a few feet away, leaning casually against one wall. Aang paled, but quickly recovered his flippant attitude and stood up, gritting his teeth against the pain as the rope dug into his skin.

"Can't say I have," he agreed, trying to make his tone light. "Why?"

"That isn't a Firenation rope," Zuko explained, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "It was designed by Kyoshi Warriors several hundred years ago. Of course, back then they made it from tree bark – but since then metal has proved to be the best material for high security prisoners. The idea is, the harder you pull, the tighter and tighter its grip becomes. They call it Unagi rope."

"Wow. You sure know a lot," Aang commented, not entirely sarcastic. Zuko shrugged.

"I, unlike you, have a rather… profitable relationship with pirates. And I happened to secure some of this rope at a very  _reasonable_ price. Rumor has it even airbenders can't escape from it, because the more space they try and create, the more they end up taking away." Zuko smirked smugly.

"Huh," Aang grunted noncommittally, surreptitiously trying to squirm against the bonds and only succeeding in feeling them draw blood.

"That won't work," Zuko said, pushing off the wall and walking up to him. He knelt down until his face was only inches from Aang's, his scar vividly detailed up close. "I told you, Avatar, I am  _well_  prepared for this encounter." He grabbed Aang's shoulder and lifted him to his feet roughly, pushing him towards the brig.

"I thought you were talking to someone," Aang ground out angrily, feeling the blood drip down his hands in tiny, warm rivulets.

Zuko smiled darkly. "Oh yes, I'd almost forgotten. Come on, then. I hear you have some things you want to tell me. I have a great audience room set up for my honored guest… in the brig."

"Not me!" Aang hissed. "Bibo, or Ezo, something like that."

"Ah, you mean Izo!" Zuko said in mock realization. "That was just a lie. I never trust any of the Marines to do a job properly. And like I said, you're such a valuable prize; I'd hate to see you lost because of the idiocy of the military."

Aang felt anger and embarrassment burn inside him like a bright flame at being caught by some Firenation prick, and being totally convinced by his lies, but he took a deep breath to calm his emotions. Let the Prince think he had captured him totally. It would be more beneficial for the both of them if he listened to Aang anyway.

And once he had,  _then_  he would make his escape.

* * *

Zuko shoved him in roughly, and Aang had to blow out a fast breath to keep his face from hitting the metal floor. He fell on his shoulder instead with a loud thud, and struggled to get to his feet without using his hands. The metal bars slammed closed again, and Aang pressed himself against them.

"You're going to stay and listen, aren't you?" he asked. He cursed himself silently for his desperation being so obvious in his tone. Zuko just laughed.

"No. It'll be weeks until we reach the caldera, Avatar. I can speak with you whenever I deem fit. And until then, you can wait for me." He started to walk away with a small, mean smile, his hands clasped behind his back regally.

Aang pushed himself against the door even harder, the bars digging into his skin.  _He lied again, and you didn't realize?_ Aang couldn't believe himself. "You would go against your word?" he spat. Zuko froze for a long second, then turned on his heel and raised an eyebrow.

"The deal was, I let you talk to me while you're shut away in the brig. Don't be hasty, Avatar. The trip is plenty long enough; you'll have time in the brig to spare." He walked away, his bootfalls crisp on the floor as they echoed down the hallway.

"At least cut off these ropes!" Aang yelled, feeling tears well in his eyes as the movement of bending his face to safety caused its grip to tighten even more. Zuko's footfalls paused, though Aang could no longer see him. He heard they Prince laugh darkly from his invisible point of view.

"How stupid do you think I am?"

Aang squeezed his eyes shut and gritted his teeth at the sound of the door to the brig slamming closed and a key turning. He felt his eyes prickle with tears and swallowed hard to erase them. This was okay. He could figure a way out. This was… this was nothing compared to some of the jams he and Kuzon had gotten into.

He tried to ignore the voice in the back of his head that whispered that it was usually Kuzon who had gotten them out of them.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he turned around, leaning against the bars and letting his hands slip through one of the gaps and rest a little.

 _The more space they try and create, the more they end up taking away._  The phrase echoed around Aang's head in such a way that he knew Zuko wasn't the only one to have said it to him. There was an older memory, he just couldn't recall the context.  _Think, Aang,_  he growled mentally.  _Think!_

Gyatso's face suddenly popped up in Aang's mind, the skin tanned and wrinkled and the permanent, knowing half-smile glued on his face.  _I didn't trick you, Aang,_  he argued.  _All you had to do was relax._

 _Of course!_  Had Aang's hands not been tied behind his back, he would have smacked himself in the head. Air Nomad Puzzles had the same principle! They seemed innocent enough to put your fingers in, but as soon as you tried to pull them out you lengthened the entire braid, and its circumference narrowed and locked your hands in place. It was a simple property when considering a cylinder.  _But how did they manage to apply that idea to a rope?_  Aang wondered. After a moment of contemplation, he shook his head.  _Now is not the time for curiosity,_  he berated himself.

 _The key to escaping the Air Nomad Puzzles is to bring your fingers together. If you decrease the length of the braid, the circumference increases and you can pull free._ Aang wiggled his hands experimentally, wincing as the ropes continued to dig in and sting.  _Well, if anything,_  he thought wryly,  _I know how_ not _to escape._

He breathed again, imagining the pain in his arms just dissipating.  _All I have to do is relax._

* * *

Katara breathed in and out slowly, trying not to look down. She wasn't normally a timid girl, and she had never been afraid of heights before. But that didn't mean that when she was on the edge of a cliff on a mountain fifteen-thousand feet high, about to jump off, that she wouldn't get a little squeamish.

"O-okay," she stuttered. "It's going to be okay, Appa. I trust you, really. So…" She trailed off, trying to remember the phrase Aang had used. It came to mind and she quipped, "Yip-yip, Appa!"

The rush of air against her face was nothing compared to the rush of adrenaline as the bison leaped off the cliff and started soaring. A scream was torn out of her throat, but as their velocity slowed and her terror diminished it changed into a laugh. She still held the reins with a white-knuckled grip, and her whole body shook, but she giggled nervously.

"Okay, Appa," she said. "We've waited long enough. It's been like… two hours? It's time to go find Aang."

Appa let out a low groan that she supposed was agreement. She leaned closer to the huge head that was acting as her seat and repeated, "Go back to the village, Appa!"

The bison took off, picking up his speed and heading south once more.

* * *

"You did well," Sokka assured the shaking boy yet again. "Really, really well." The older boy grabbed Gutta's shoulder with his unwrapped hand and gave it a quick squeeze. "Your aim really was amazing. I might get you to train some of the younger boys, okay?"

The six-year-old nodded, his lower lip quivering with restrained tears. Sokka gave him a strained smile and tousled his hair as he stood up.

"Now, I know I asked a lot of you already today," Sokka said, "but I have another job for you."

Gutta swallowed hard and steeled himself. "A Wolf Warrior never rests!" he cried passionately.

Sokka's smile twitched a little wider at the little boy's attempt. "Everyone needs rest," he said gently. "And I need you to make sure that while I'm away, all the women are protected so they can sleep well. I know it's a big task, so I want you to get the other boys to help you. You need your rest, too. I just want you to be on the lookout for black snow, okay?"

"Black snow… got it." Gutta nodded resolutely. Suddenly, his big brown eyes widened as he realized the full extent of what Sokka had said. "Wait, you're going away?"

Sokka nodded severely. "Yeah. I don't know how long I'll be gone, so it's your job to be the man of the village until I come back, alright?"

Gutta looked on the verge of tears again, his tiny hands balled into fists at his side. "But…!" he stopped, closing his eyes and looking away. He sniffed a few times, and Sokka watched him sympathetically. He knew the feeling well enough. Finally, Gutta turned back to him, his tears stubbornly pushed back and a small smile glued to his chubby face. "Yessir."

Sokka leaned down and gave the little boy a quick hug with his good arm. "That's the spirit. Show no fear."

"No fear!" Gutta started to turn around, then stopped and turned around again, nearly tripping in the snow. "If I'm the man of the village," he said slowly, "will you put my hair up?"

Sokka was caught off guard for a moment, but smiled. "Yeah, sure. Wait here." He stood up and walked to his tent, pushing aside the flap and striding in purposefully. He walked up to a length of leather cord hanging on one of the posts and pulled out his bone knife, using the arm stuck in the sling to hold the end as his other sliced off a four inch section. As he walked back out, he clumsily tied the ends together so the cord was a small circle. When he reached Gutta again, he motioned for the boy to turn around, which he did silently. Sokka gathered up all his hair into a high ponytail, stifling giggles as some of the shorter hairs fell out. Gutta's hair was barely long enough, but Sokka tied what he could into the Wolf tail. The hair stuck out at odd angles, too short to fall into a reasonable state. Sokka smiled.

"There," he said. "You're a Wolf Warrior now. I'm counting on you."

The boy turned around, his face comically serious against the messy updo. "Thanks, Sokka," he said. "You can trust me!" He saluted him once, bit back his tears, and ran off.

Sokka shook his head endearingly and turned around to get his things ready to depart. He stopped short as he saw none other than Katara – riding the Fluffy Snot Monster – land before him. The two siblings stared at each other for a long second, before Katara jumped down hesitantly and looked away. Sokka just stared at her in amazement.

"Uh, hi?" Katara finally ventured, her big blue eyes turning up to meet his in the most innocent way she could. Sokka seemed to regather his consciousness.

"Hi?  _Hi?"_  He walked up to her, a finger waggling dangerously. "Don't you ' _hi'_ me! You didn't get kidnapped, you ran off! I can't believe you, not leaving a note, not leaving a single sign… do you know what you put me through!" He raked the fingers on his free hand through his head, a crazed look in his eyes. Katara watched him warily. "Some Fire Nation jerk shows up demanding to see the Avatar,  _breaks my wrist…!"_ He wagged the sling in front of her for verification, and to his satisfaction Katara's eyes widened. "And then Aang shows up and says that he's the Avatar and goes with this guy in return for leaving the village alone, and now I have to go after him and-"

His steady stream of words was cut short as Katara jumped at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her head in his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry!" she sobbed. "I didn't think ahead, I was just caught up in the moment. I thought I was going to finally get to learn bending, and I… I just forgot everything else!" She squeezed him tighter. "I'm so sorry you had to fight a firebender, and he broke your wrist, I'm just so sorry you got  _hurt_  because of  _me_ …!"

Sokka peeled away from her and held her at arms' length. "It wasn't because of you," he said softly. "And I forgive you for running away. But only because I've got bigger fish to fry."

Katara nodded, swallowing her tears. "Right. You said this Fire Nation guy took Aang?"

"More like Aang offered himself up."

"Then we have no choice," Katara said. She wiped away her tears and stared at him determinedly. "We have to go rescue him. I know you don't like him, but if he was willing to give his life for the village it's the least we can do."

Sokka rolled his eyes. "Obnoxious, as always," he complained. "Didn't I just say I was going after him?"

"Oh, right." Katara rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. "Well, forget the canoe, there's no way we'll catch a warship with one of those. They have more patches than I have toes."

"Do you see any other way?" Sokka growled.

Katara just gestured silently at the towering beast behind her, who grumbled in what Sokka supposed was a friendly manner. He shook his head with a sigh. "You just  _love_  taking me out of my comfort zone, don't ya?"

Katara grinned bashfully.

* * *

"So it does fly," Sokka commented sarcastically. "I'm surprised."

"Don't listen to him, Appa," Katara crooned, risking dropping her grip on the rein to rub his head. "I knew you could fly! But you need to fly fast. You need to fly fast to Aang. Find Aang, okay?"

"He's not a kid, Katara," Sokka complained. "Quit it with the baby voice." He looked up into the stars, seeing the moon hovering overhead. "How long did it say it took you to get from the Southern Air Temple to the village?"

"A few hours, maybe three," Katara replied.

"And you reached the village at about six," Sokka said, rubbing his chin as he thought, "about four hours after Aang left. How long did you wait after Aang left to come back?"

"Two hours or so," Katara answered. "Why do you want to know?"

"Shut up, I'm trying to think," Sokka commanded. "So Aang left the Temple at about one o'clock, and he reached the village at a little before two. He left with Angry Boy at about two, I checked over all the women and children, you showed up at six, we left around seven…"

"Why does all this matter?" Katara couldn't help but ask.

"I said shut up!"

"Right. I forgot you need total silence to think, otherwise your brain runs too slowly." Katara rolled her eyes.

"Hey!" Sokka sounded stung. "You owe me, missy. I wouldn't go around insulting me if I was you."

"I'm your sister, it's my job."

Sokka sighed explosively. "It matters because I'm trying to figure out how far their ship would be from the village, and how far we are from the ship. Now shush?"

Katara said nothing, so Sokka went back to contemplating out loud. "The ship was moving barely three miles an hour when it first came," he reasoned. "It's about nine-o-clock now, so he's had seven hours of travel time…" Sokka trailed off, rubbing his temple with a groan. "That's not good."

Katara frowned, absently rubbing her hand through Appa's thick fur. "No," she agreed. "Not good at all."

"Well, Appa seems able to go faster than the ship," Sokka said, trying to find an upside to the situation. "We should be able to catch it before the night's out."

"Yeah," Katara said, her tone making her despair all too clear, "but what if it's too late by then? It's already been seven hours, who knows what they might have done with Aang in that time?"

"Hopefully?" Sokka leaned back and looked up at the stars, trying to erase his worry and focus on the task at hand. "Nothing."

* * *

Aang took a deep breath, held it for three seconds, and let it out slowly. Then breathed in again.

He sat on the floor of his cell, his legs crossed and his arms behind him. He focused on relaxing and taking deep breaths. He'd been meditating for hours – he couldn't say how many – and the rope had relaxed significantly. It was no longer cutting into his wrists, though Aang could feel the dry blood on his hands like a constant reminder of what would happen if he moved too much.

Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Another hour, he told himself. Then there would be enough room to squeeze out.

A voice floated up in his mind.  _Heat up the rope,_  it said.  _If you focus on heating it up, it will expand faster._

Aang didn't know what to do. He'd never had voices talk to him before, but he supposed it was al l part of the spirit-ness of the Avatar. What the voice said made since, but he had never done anything remotely akin to firebending. Or any bending other than airbending, for that matter.

 _Well,_ he thought wryly, _it's not like I have anything better to do. It's worth a shot._

Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Send warmth down your arms.

He smiled as he felt the rope slip wider. Breathe in, hold, breath out, send warmth…

* * *

"There it is!" Katara called. Sokka jumped from where he had been dozing and crawled up to her. He peered over her shoulder and saw the shadowy form of the ship beneath them, smoke puffing out of its depths as it glided north. He squinted down at it, looking for guards stationed on board. He couldn't see any, but he saw the faint form of a silhouette through the window of the wheelhouse. He thought silently, and finally he motioned to the left side of the boat.

"Okay," he said softly. "Let's pull up on that side. See where that window is?"

Katara nodded, and Sokka felt her hair brush against his cheek.

"Get us up next to that," he ordered, "and don't let the man in the wheelhouse see you."

"Right," Katara growled. She flicked the reins and whispered, "Down, Appa."

The bison started to descend, and Katara focused on steering him towards the window, when suddenly bright red and white light flared up on the ship's deck. Katara involuntarily pulled the reins in surprise, and Appa stopped with a groan. Both siblings shielded their eyes against the abrupt brightness with a yelp. After a second, Sokka blinked and narrowed his eyes, peering down to try and see what was happening.

"It's Aang!" he gasped. "And he's fighting a Marine!"

"What?" Katara squeaked. "I thought you said they were putting Aang in the brig!"

"I did," Sokka said indignantly. "Looks like he broke out."

Katara whistled lowly in admiration. After a second she said, "I'm going down," and flicked the reins again.

"Katara, I don't think that's a good ide-"

"I don't care!" she shouted over the sound of the rushing air. "Aang needs our help!"

* * *

"How the hell did you get out?"

"I'm an airbender," Aang yelled as he ducked a bright flame. "We can get out of anything!"

"Not even airbenders can escape from Unagi rope," the Marine insisted, avoiding pointed gusts of air and counterattacking with bright white flame.

"Yeah, well, you forgot something very important," Aan g grunted as he ducked and weaved. "I'm not just an airbender!" Suddenly, he stood up straight and reached for the Marine's attack, grabbing the flame and swinging it around clumsily to point back at the Marine. His gray eyes danced with the light cast of the fire, making them glow a bright yellow. "I'm the Avatar!"

The Marine avoided the attack and was suddenly flanked on both sides by backup. Aang took a deep breath and focused on avoiding all three Marines' attacks while keeping an eye out as more Marine's flooded the deck. He tried to stay calm, but somewhere in the back of his mind he noted that there was no way he could put up a fight against a shipful of trained fighters.

Suddenly, he heard a familiar low growl and looked up for a half-second, feeling his heart skip a beat with joy. "Appa!" The relief was plain in his voice.

The bison landed next to him and two figures leaped down. Aang broke into a grin as he saw the two siblings dressed in blue run up next to him, though it didn't last long on his tired face.

"Boy, am I glad to see you guys!" he admitted, keeping his fighting stance and watching the enemies as he spoke. "Things were getting a little warm around here."

"Don't worry about that," Katara hissed, her voice low and dangerous as she came up next to him. "I can help  _cool it down._ "

Aang cast her a quick smile. "Sokka," he called. The boy was facing the other way, watching for attacks, but Aang caught his nod out of the corner of his eye. He paused for a second, then said, "Thanks for coming."

Half a second passed. "Sure thing, Aang."

"Okay." Aang lowered his voice, and the three of them backed up until they made a loose circle facing outwards, all three in a ready stance and watching as Marines filled up the deck around them, all waiting for an order from one of the Privates. "Sokka, I need you to get me my glider."

"Glider, got it," Sokka said briskly. "Where is it?"

"It's in the Prince's quarters," Aang replied. "I believe you know him?"

Sokka looked down at his arm, cradled in a leather sling, and he frowned. He cracked his knuckles on his good hand and pulled out his boomerang. "Oh yeah. I know him."

"Katara," Aang said, "I know you don't know a lot of waterbending, but can you call up enough to freeze a layer of ice on the deck?"

Katara gritted her teeth. "I can try," she said.

"That's good enough for me. I'll hold them off while you do."

"Okay."

"Get going as soon as I move, Sokka."

"Right."

Aang took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. "Ready?" He sensed more than saw as Katara and Sokka nodded next to him. " _Go."_

Aang jumped up ten feet in the air and flipped, shooting air in a loose circle. It buffeted the Marines and sent several dozen backwards and into others like a domino train. Those that weren't hit aimed a fist at him and punched flames, creating a huge fireball trained at him. Aang let himself fall back to the deck and out of the range safely. He spun around and kicked, opening a gap in the circle of Marines behind him as they were rocketed to the sides. Sokka ran through without hesitating and disappeared below deck.

Suddenly, Aang felt water under his feet. He turned again, grabbed Katara by the waist and jumped onto Appa's head. "Now freeze it," he hissed, both of them safely out of the water's grip.

Katara's eyes were narrow with concentration as she froze the thin layer of water on the deck. The Marines found their feet frozen in the ice, and there was a moment of panic, but soon they realized how thin the barrier was and broke out of it easily.

"What did that accomplish?" Katara tried not to sound panicked.

"The deck is slippery now," Aang said. "It's not much of an advantage, but it's something." He looked over his shoulder into the saddle and saw Sokka's spear sitting on the floor. "You know how to use a spear?" he asked Katara.

The girl laughed. "Do I know how to use a spear. Aang, I was born and raised in the Southern Water Tribe."

Aang took that for a yes and reached a hand for the spear, sucking the air between him and it and pulling it into his outstretched grasp. He handed it to her roughly and leaped down from Appa's head again with her in tow. "Then use it. If any one of them comes anywhere near you, don't hesitate."

Katara's eyes were wide with fear, but she gripped the spear in both hands and nodded. Aang looked back at her with sad eyes. "And Katara? They're not the animals you hunt. Try not to kill them." He looked around at the growing circle of Marines and squared his jaw. "Anyways, they'll have to get through me before it comes to that."

She nodded again, and then Aang was circling around her, averting flames from all directions as the gruff voice of a Private screamed, "Open fire!" The night was lit up by the strength of the fire, flashes of yellow and red streaking through the darkness like the Northern Lights.

* * *

Sokka crept through the dark hallway silently. He opened door after door, peering into the barrack-like rooms and closing them disappointed. One door revealed a fat old man in a lavish room, sprawled on a cot and snoring loudly. Sokka smirked and whispered, "Sorry…," pulling his head back and retreating from the room silently.

He turned the corner of the hallway and opened the door to his right. Thanking his good night vision, he peered in and saw a sparsely decorated room: nothing but a cot, a chest, several candles, and a Firenation insignia hanging on the wall.

And Aang's glider leaning against it.

"Ah hah!" Sokka jumped for it and grabbed it with his good hand. He spun around, ready to run back above deck, when he heard the door slam closed behind him, and saw Prince Zuko standing by it with a scowl.

"You again, he growled, annoyed. "With all the noise I was expecting the Avatar."

Sokka tried to still his pounding heart and throbbing wrist, which seemed to remember the scarred face. "Sorry. I guess you'll be disappointed." He held the staff like a lifeline.

"I already am," Zuko corrected. He tilted his head, considering. "But I suppose you'll do."

"For what?" Sokka asked warily. He knew he was no replacement for the Avatar prisoner-wise – not even close.

"For ransom, of course." The Prince lifted one pale hand and lit a small, tame flame in his palm menacingly, flashing a dark smile.

* * *

His breath was coming in ragged gasps, his reflexes slowing by the minute. He turned and blew away one flame only to have to raise a leg and dissipate another. Katara stood next to him, tentatively pulling up the ice to stop blasts now and then, but she barely knew what she was doing, and she was shaking with exhaustion.

Suddenly, a cool voice rang over the deck. "Stop now, and he lives."

Aang froze along with everyone else. He knew that voice all too well. He turned around, panting, to see Prince Zuko standing by the stairs that descended below deck with a knowing smirk on his face. One arm held Sokka around the neck, and the other held a dancing white-hot flame inches from his face. Aang felt himself deflating, hope draining out of him, even though Sokka held his glider in one hand.

"Sokka…?" The name of her brother escaped Katara's lips in a hoarse whisper.

"End of the line, Avatar," Zuko purred. Sokka struggled against his grip, and Zuko brought the fire closer, until Sokka squeezed his eyes and looked away, tears leaking down his cheeks at the heat.

"Stop!" Aang cried.

Zuko spared him a glance. "Stop what? This?" He brought his hand closer, and Sokka started shaking trying to keep from crying out. Zuko's voice was hard when he commanded, "Surrender."

Aang felt sobs shaking his small frame, his shoulders heaving. When he looked up, his eyes flashed bright white, and suddenly, the tattoos on his arms and head glowed in the dark night. "No," he said, and his voice echoed with the sound of a thousand people. "I don't surrender to dead men."

He brought up one hand and sent Katara flying onto Appa's back with a small scream. He fell to the deck and landed on his hands, kicking out his legs in a circle. The water on the deck melted into ice and crawled up the Marine's legs, freezing them in place. Zuko's eyes widened for a moment in surprise, but he let the fire in his hand die and took a deep breath, focusing heat on his feet. He broke free of the ice a second later and leaped away from Sokka, uncaring that the Watertribe boy's ankles were still frozen solid. Aang shot back to his feet, and with an almost lazy flick of one hand melted Sokka's bonds and turned it into a wave that shot him through the air and onto Appa, landing in an undignified heap by Katara.

Zuko took his chance and jumped at him, whirling into an intricate attack pattern. Aang simply brought up a wave of ocean water from one side of the ship and crashed it between them, the Prince's attacks fizzling out harmlessly. Then the monk brought his arms down, and the water spread out and froze, reinforcing the bonds that some Marines had melted out of. Zuko broke his and ducked, just as Aang sent a pointed spear of ice rocketing at him.

Some ghostly memory in Zuko's mind made him duck and weave out of the way of Aang's attacks and shoot fire in between, not entirely in control of his of his actions. He never landed a solid blow on Aang; but then again, Aang wasn't landing a solid blow on him either.

* * *

_"How is he avoiding us?" Kyoshi growled. "There's no way he could put up a fight against the Avatar, he's a child, and a mõistatus at that!"_

_"The fact remains that he used to be the Avatar," Roku said. "Perhaps our influence has turned him into a stronger bender than any of us anticipated."_

_"Yes. It seems he is using forms similar to airbending now," Yangchen commented. "Odd, I could have sworn that the Avatar's energy was torn out of him by the alma tulekahju years ago, and even if they're just the forms, we never taught him any footwork like that."_

_"I don't care what he's doing, if he's not the Avatar, he shouldn't be acting like it!" Kyoshi let out a growl of frustration and reached for the ice cliff by the ship._

_"Kyoshi, don't be wasteful!" Kuruk argued, but his plea fell on deaf ears. She sent Aang leaping onto Appa's head and flicking the reins with one hand while the other reached and pulled, feeling the call of the frozen water, answering it, asking it to **come**_ **…**

_"Get them out of the way, Kyoshi!" Yangchen ordered._

_"Shut up, I'm already on it!" Kyoshi made Aang command Appa to rise above the ship nonverbally as he stood on the bison's head, seemingly unaware of the feat of balancing as the animal rose so sharply. Aang's robes flapped around him as he held out his hands, steady despite standing on Appa's head, his eyes and arms and head glowing with a cool determination. The three barely avoided the tumbling wall of snow, as the avalanche was sent down, hurtling with deadly momentum at the ship's deck._

_"Not acceptable, Kyoshi," Roku said calmly. With a wave of his hands, he slowed the ice and altered its course._

_"He will kill Aang, or deliver him to his father and let **him**  kill him. You would save him?" Kyoshi was coldly furious, watching her decisive attack shifted._

_"Yes," Roku said simply. He watched Zuko sadly as the Prince was buried in snow, red flame bursting from his hands as he attempted to save himself. It would be painful, but not lethal, as Kyoshi had intended. "Yes, I would. He's more than he seems, and more important than you give him credit for."_

_Kyoshi huffed. "Very well. Save your little pet, Roku. But if I get the chance, I **will**  try to kill him."_

_"Understood," Roku said. "And I will try to protect him."_

_"He's a worthless_ _bèn," Kyoshi insisted._

_Roku raised an eyebrow. "I would have thought you learned what happens when you judge people prematurely and dub them idiots."_

_Kyoshi glowered at him for a long second, but finally turned her head away and reluctantly muttered, "I see your point."_

_Roku smiled, his hands tucked into his voluminous sleeves. "I'm glad."_

_Kuruk laughed. "You don't need to sound so smug," he said, glad that the conflict was over. The two fought much more than was appreciated by those of a pacifistic nature._

_Yangchen suddenly sighed pointedly, and the other three Avatars looked at her expectantly. "Time to go," she said sadly. The others sighed too, savoring their moment of substance._

_"Right," Kyoshi finally said. "Let's be off." And with that, the spirits quietly evaporated, retreating further into Aang's soul._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Okay, that was really really long, I know, but I wanted to get through episode two in canon. Now that I have done so, I can sleep in peace. This was a hard chapter to write, jampacked full of action. Please tell me if I did a good job with descriptive details in the battle scenes, and any other comments you would like to add!
> 
> To answer one reader's question, "Why is moving like a waterbender making Zuko such a better firebender? Water and Fire are opposites!" It's not that moving like a waterbender is the sole source of Zuko's power. What makes his special form of bending so impressive is that it takes parts of other elements and incorporates them into his own bending, hence increasing his strength (think back to the episode in which Iroh explains the concept of redirecting lightning, and his lecture on the four elements.) Bending like an Avatar, with styles from every element, not just bending like a waterbender, is what makes Zuko so formidable, as demonstrated in this chapter with his airbending dodges.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already know that a lot of you are going to disagree with some of the characterizations of this chapter, so let me just clarify ahead of time: yes, Zuko is an emotional wreck - this is Canon. Yes, Aang is serious and actually thinking ahead - this is AU. I think I mentioned this earlier, but if I didn't, one of the main character changes of this story is the fact that Aang is slightly less, well, ditsy, and more focused on his goal. This is due to the as-of-yet unknown (to you, anyways) revelation at the Southern Air Temple. He will be thinking things through and not wasting time like in Canon. Expect this to be the norm throughout this story. Also, one reviewer asked me about pairings. I have also explained this before, but I will reiterate: pairings are undecided, but they don't really matter yet. I throw in a little Canon stuff just to stick to the story, but don't expect anything big for a while, if I write anything big at all.

Darkness enveloped him with a physical weight, the cold shocking him motionless for several long seconds. It felt like his skin was on fire, he was so frigid-

Wait.  _Fire._

In an impressive burst of red-hot flames the snow crushing Prince Zuko instantly melted and he was on his feet in an instant, still crouched in a defensive stance and gold eyes searching for his enemy. When he was certain the Avatar was nowhere to be seen – the very thought stabbing so painfully that he pushed it aside until he could deal with it – he rushed over to where his Uncle was crouching on the stairs between decks.

"Uncle!" he snapped. "Where were you?" Though he sounded angry, his eyes brushed over the elderly man, mentally checking that he was unharmed and relief flooding him when he found that his Uncle was safe.

"Occupied," Iroh answered vaguely. He stood quickly and took the last few steps onto the deck and he automatically straightened, hands closing into fists and eyes flashing menacingly as he took stock of the situation. He turned to Zuko and opened his mouth to say something when Izo suddenly appeared next to them, eyes wide. It didn't bode well that the ex-Marine didn't bow to either of them.

"General Iroh, Prince Zuko, three men overboard." His words were rushed, but his tone was coldly detached as he slipped back into Military protocol subconsciously. Zuko blinked as the words soaked into his slightly numbed mind, and he took off towards the ship's rail at a dead sprint, ignoring the shocked cries of the two men behind him.

"Get this snow off my men before they die under it!" he ordered, a second later leaping off the railing and diving into the Arctic waters several stories below. The momentum of his fall shot him meters deep in seconds, the pressure painful on his ears, but Zuko ignored it and opened his eyes. He blinked a few times to adjust to the dark, cold, and sting of the salt water before he saw the red armor. In a few quick strokes he had the man in his arms and scissor-kicked hard to return to the surface. As soon as his head broke free from the water he gasped for air, pleased as he dully noted that the Marine he held did the same. Struggling against the numbness already setting into his bones, he maneuvered himself to the side of the ship.

 _Dammit,_  he thought, looking up.  _How do I get him up?_ The ship rose above him like a formidable cliff of iron without footholds of any kind. The near-unconscious man had no hope of clinging to the rope currently holding up one of the lifeboats –

Lifeboats.

"Izo!" Zuko hollered, his voice rough and echoing between the avalanche, the crumbled ice wall behind him and the ship towering above him. He was satisfied that the man's face appeared far above him the next instant, and Zuko mentally thanked Agni for giving him a proper military training. "Lower the lifeboat!"

"Yessir!" Izo saluted quickly and set to deftly untying the knots holding the small craft, lowering it carefully into the water beside the Prince. Zuko hoisted the Marine into it with considerable effort, took a deep breath to steel himself, and dove beneath the surface again.

He saw another body instantly and swam for it, but it was deeper, the cold having set in and rendered any attempts to stay afloat impossible. Zuko ground his teeth together as he wrapped his arms around the Marine from behind, hoping he wasn't too late. Seconds later he broke the surface and had to look for the lifeboat, black spots swimming in his vision. He blinked them away determinedly, ignoring his aching headache and clumsy limbs as he practically dumped the second man into the boat, causing it to rock precariously.

"Prince Zuko!" Izo's voice sounded faint and far away, and Zuko blinked in an attempt to focus on it better. "Get in the boat! If you stay in this water any longer you'll die from the cold!"

Zuko tried to find his voice to protest, but couldn't seem to make a sound. He swallowed hard and shook his head weakly, then submerged once more, the sea drowning out Izo's desperate screams. He peered around him, searching the black waters for the third man and seeing nothing. Finally, he caught a glimpse of red in the corner of his vision and locked on it, far below and sinking fast. Zuko kicked up once, gasped for a quick breath of air his screaming lungs demanded, and dove after the body.

The pressure pushed against him as he descended, squeezing his eyes and ears uncomfortably. The Marine continued to sink, drifting farther and farther out of reach. Zuko knew that if the man was going to have even the slimmest chance of survival that he needed to get him to the surface immediately. The Prince redoubled his lagging efforts, his arms and legs half-frozen from the piercing cold and numbness. After what seemed like an eternity, he was close enough to reach out and touch the Marine. Stretching, his hand closed around the body's bicep and Zuko dragged it to him, hugging the armor-clad soldier to his chest with one arm as he swam upward. His legs kicked madly, matching the fast and erratic thudding of his heart against his ribcage, and his lungs seemed ready to burst at any second. Moments later, Zuko snapped out of the water, gasping wildly for breath, his whole field of vision now black and shifting. He swam towards where he vaguely recalled the lifeboat floating, his vision only clearing enough for him to see its rough outline. He reached it, struggling to get the man in, until eventually he heard the thud of the body impacting the bottom of the vessel as though from a distance. He numbly pushed himself in afterwards, his mind hazy and unfocused, not caring that he landed in a heap on top of the others. As soon as he was in, the lifeboat lurched sickeningly as Izo and another Marine – Zuko had no clue who he had managed to dig out to help him – started pulling it up.

Zuko slowly sat up, trying not to flinch as the blood rushed to his head and made his murky, shadowy world spin. He held a hand to his head, only remembering that he had cut it when he felt the rough, dripping wet cloth against his temple. He took a few steadying breaths, his heart rate slowing as he forced himself to calm. He felt the boat stop as they finally drew level with the deck and he stood, struggling to keep his balance until a steadying hand latched onto his shoulder. Silently grateful, though his expression didn't show it, Zuko stepped onto the reassuringly solid metal deck of the ship. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on breathing evenly, and when he opened them his eyesight had almost completely returned to normal. He knew it would take a while for his eyes to fully bounce back after being shocked in the arctic cold for as long as they had been. He scowled at his throbbing headache and shook off the hand, knowing whose it was before he turned to him.

"Get these men to the infirmary immediately," he demanded, ignoring how his voice shook.

"Sir, you should lay down-" Izo started. With speed Zuko didn't think he was capable of, much less when he was cold and exhausted, he grabbed Izo by the front of his uniform and shook him hard, his arm trembling.

"I command this ship, Helmsman," he snarled, "and I don't want these men to die after all the effort if took to retrieve them. Get them to the infirmary  _now_." He released him and stalked across the deck to where Iroh was slowly digging the men out of the avalanche. He tapped him on the shoulder as he walked by, Iroh obligingly taking a step back as Zuko closed his eyes and assumed a loose, informal stance.

"Are you sure you're up to the control that whatever you're thinking of requires, nephew?" Iroh asked quietly. "You risk burning the very people you are trying to save with anything drastic."

Zuko snorted, not looking at his Uncle. "As for me, I'm damn near frozen," he answered. "Some firebending will do me a lot of good. And as for  _my_  men, if we don't get this ice off of them, they'll be colder than I am." Without waiting for a response, he raised his arms, each finger spread out. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, converting the air into fire. Flames shot from each fingertip and spread out, mingling with each other into a thin blanket of flashing, dancing sparks and heat. Zuko carefully held it just above the ice, inwardly pleased as it started evaporating instantly. He was careful to keep the flames hot, but not hot enough to burn through the snow and risk hurting those it buried.

It took several full minutes until the avalanche the Avatar had thrown down on them was gone and all of Zuko's men were uncovered. Exhausted, Zuko slumped over and his arms fell to his sides, shaking. Uncle caught him before his legs gave out, holding him firmly by the shoulders. Zuko didn't bother to open his eyes.

"You've had a long day, my nephew," Iroh muttered, and Zuko noted with confusion that his voice sounded slightly choked. "Come have a hot cup of tea – you're still cold."

The Prince didn't even have the energy to protest, much less resist as Iroh firmly steered him to the stairs. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and was surprised to see his uncle beaming at him, eyes shining.

"What about this situation could you possibly be optimistic about?" he ground out. After years of hunting, they had found the Avatar, only to be delayed by a tiny, mediocre village with a single, even worse defender. Then, out of nowhere, the Avatar had shown up and offered himself to them, only to escape despite Zuko exhausting himself fighting him. He had nearly killed all of his men and three of them were in an unknown and unstable condition, Zuko having risked his own life to save them only to be dragged out and forced to concentrate on difficult fire-control for minutes on end while his body wanted nothing more than to collapse into sleep. Needless to say, the Prince was not in a good mood.

Regardless, Iroh's smile only grew wider and he gave Zuko's shoulders a gentle squeeze, though he couldn't feel it through his armor. "Nothing, really," the man admitted somewhat sheepishly. "I was just thinking of how proud I was of you."

Zuko felt heat rushing to his cheeks and growled, for the first time that day wishing he had his helmet back. "Don't be sentimental, old man."

Iroh laughed. "Of course, my nephew," he said between hearty chuckles. "My apologies."

Minutes later, Zuko was sitting on the edge of his uncle's cot in the middle of the general's lavish quarters, a steaming cup of tea held tightly in both hands. He was slumped for once, not bothering to sit rigidly as was expected of him at all times back home. His armor was laid out to dry in a neat pile in the corner of the room, Zuko wearing his loose black meditation clothes and breathing deeply. Iroh smiled to himself and sat down to his right with his own cup of jasmine tea. He knew better than to wrap an arm around the young man's shoulders as he would have years ago, instead just silently waiting. Finally, the Prince sighed heavily and tilted his head to peer at his Uncle. The angle hid his scar, and for a moment, Iroh was convinced that the boy sitting beside him was exactly the same one he had left all those years ago when he went off to war. The moment was shattered when Zuko spoke, his tone broken.

"I'm tired," he muttered simply.

Iroh knew his cue and inwardly smiled at his nephew's attempt at starting a conversation, though it didn't show on his face. "Of?" he prompted.

"Everything… nothing… just  _tired._ " A space of three heartbeats followed, after which Zuko raised his cup to his lips and downed the scorching tea in one gulp. He grimaced in pain as the liquid burned his throat, but said nothing, glaring into the bottom of the china as if searching for some answer in its depths. Iroh was suddenly wary and watched him from narrow eyes. He'd seen the boy like this before, and knew that his emotional pendulum could swing erratically and without warning.

As if hearing Iroh's thoughts, Zuko suddenly stood and threw the cup against the wall, the fine porcelain shattering. Uncle narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips, but refused to say anything, staring at the shaking teenager in front of him. "Why, Uncle?" Zuko's voice was ragged. "Why does everything I ever do end in failure?"

Iroh was silent – he didn't have an answer.

"I couldn't keep up with Azula, I couldn't save Mother, I couldn't stand up against Father, I couldn't find the Avatar – and when I finally do, I couldn't keep him on my ship for more than seven hours!" Zuko raked his fingers through his hair, yanking strands out of the tight phoenix tail it was held in. "I'm a shame to the family! I don't deserve to be a Prince!" He pulled his hands down, only for them to form claws at his sides and sizzle with uncontrolled heat.

Iroh opened his mouth to protest, his heart wrenching at his nephew's words, when there was a gentle tapping at the door. Zuko whirled on the spot, his hand flying and leaving an arc of flame in the air before him. "What is it?" he yelled.

The door opened quickly and one of the three medics on the ship fell to his knees in front of them, obviously terrified, though his bowed head hid his expression. "M-m-my Prince," he stuttered. "I was sent to inform you that o-o-of the three men you sent by earlier, two of them were saved. It was a miracle, really. N-none of them should have survived."

Zuko was suddenly very still, holding himself with the apparent control and deadliness one expected of a Prince. Only Iroh could see the emotions swirling just under the surface, his inner turmoil plain to the wizened old man's eyes. After a heavy pause, Zuko made a swift, dismissive motion with his hand. The medic was on his feet and scrambling away in an instant, the door swinging closed behind him. Zuko slowly made his way over to the bed, Iroh watching him with a critical eye all the while, and he collapsed onto the edge once more, head held in his hands as though his anger had simply drained out of him.

"Two of them survived," he muttered.

"You should be very pleased, my nephew," Iroh ventured.

"I should be pleased?" His tone was bitter and scathing. "No. I would be pleased if the Avatar was securely locked in the brig. I would be pleased if he was dead at my father's feet. I would be pleased if I had managed to subdue him and stop him from escaping; had I not been forced to dive into the arctic ocean and nearly freeze to death, had doing so at least saved my men's lives. I would be pleased if I was back home in the palace, at my father's right hand, as is my place. None of it is true, and so much more you can't begin to understand. And you tell me to be pleased?"

Iroh reached out carefully, but the second his fingertips brushed Zuko's arm he jerked away. "Zuko-" he said as the Prince stood swiftly.

"I'm going to my quarters, Uncle," the boy said stiffly. "I am not to be disturbed. See to it that we get the ship to the nearest occupied port at the fastest speed possible." He pulled open the iron door, stepped outside into the hallway, and slammed it behind him.

Iroh, sitting on his cot with an untouched, cold cup of tea in his hand, shook his head and sighed. Zuko had every right to be upset. He had had an unimaginably long day and was beyond the point of exhaustion. But that he blamed himself for everything seemed like he was only adding to his already undeserved sentence. What Iroh had said earlier had been true; he was extremely proud of the youth. He had gone above and beyond what Iroh had expected of him – not only had he managed to capture the Avatar, he had done so without any bloodshed on the Watertribe's part, save for one man who had been dealt with relatively mercifully. He had even struck a deal with the airbender that should have meant a peaceful trip to the Fire Nation for all parties. The fact that Zuko had expected treachery from the Avatar, going so far as to restrain him with illegal rope, made Iroh uneasy. It seemed that the Prince anticipated betrayal from everyone – and that he was justified in thinking it was even more unsettling. The Avatar, who should have been an honorable man and kept his deal, had gone behind Zuko's back, escaped, and endangered everyone on his ship, even killing one man inadvertently.

Iroh's expression darkened. The fact that Aang would lose control like that was worrisome. As an airbender, he wouldn't have killed a man if he could have avoided it. Bringing down an avalanche on the ship seemed like drastic measures for the young boy he had read about. And before that, his pointed attacks should have killed Zuko, or at least seriously harmed him. It was obvious that Zuko threatening the Watertribe boy had been a trigger for some other, darker power – before that, Aang had been merely dodging attacks and trying to outmaneuver the Marines, but afterwards, he had turned into a cold-blooded offensive bender, uncaring and unmindful of who his attacks struck as long as he got away. Until he apparently got desperate and pulled the ice down on their ship, Zuko had been his focus, the teenager barely dodging the attacks that, by all logic, should have been impossible to avoid.

At that thought, Iroh allowed himself a small smirk. Should have, had his nephew been a different man.

After a few more minutes of silent contemplation, Iroh stood and set his tea aside. He had the man's final rights to attend to and Zuko's orders to pass on. He was happy to take care of running the ship for the rest of the night – his nephew needed rest. Rest, and a long talking to afterwards, if Iroh could manage it.

* * *

Aang blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the bright, morning light streaming onto his face. After a moment, he sat up, holding his head. He was on Appa's back, Sokka tucked away in his sleeping bag next to him and snoring deeply, Katara sitting on the bison's head steering them. Aang immediately rubbed the sleep from his eyes and crawled over to her on his knees. The sun was just starting to rise to the east, the horizon painted a delicate pink, thin white clouds brushed across it. Aang guessed it was around six o'clock in the morning, meaning the girl had been up all night.

"Katara." He spoke her name to alert her of his presence as he sat just behind her, resting his elbows on Appa's saddle and his chin on his arms. She half-turned to him, just enough to let Aang see her relieved smile.

"Thank goodness, Aang, you're awake."

Aang laughed lightly, smiling despite himself at the sight of her tan face bathed in the soft light. "I know I am," he said, trying for a joke. He got a half-hearted chuckle in return. His expression darkened at her reaction and he reached out to touch her shoulder. "What happened?" he demanded.

Katara tensed for a moment before seemingly forcing herself to relax. "Well, you sure showed that Fire Nation ship just who was more powerful," she replied lightly. Aang frowned at her forced tone. "You more or less dropped an avalanche on them and flew away. It was…." She laughed nervously. "It was impressive." She paused for a moment, and when she spoke again, the strained cheer was gone from her voice, replaced with genuine hope and curiosity. "Do you think you could teach me to waterbend like that?"

Aang frowned. "I don't know, Katara," he answered slowly. "I don't even remember what happened. I wasn't in control of my actions, so I don't know if I could repeat them normally." He stopped to think. "Did anything happen, anything unusual, before I started waterbending?" As far as he knew, he had never consciously bent any element except air. If he could find out what the trigger was for the other elements, it could lead to him learning them faster.

"You… well, you're not going to believe this, but your tattoos all glowed, and you're eyes too, and when you talked your voice sorta  _echoed_. It was cool, but sort of creepy." Her words were quiet, as though she didn't want to admit that he had scared her. Aang could read her emotions just as easily as if she were a book, though, having trained to sort the truth from the lies just by the way a person breathed. His hand, which lingered on her shoulder, tightened and gave it a soothing squeeze.

"Katara," he said, weighing each word, "whatever you witnessed wasn't me. I'm not sure what it was, but it was probably some sort of Avatar-spirit-power that I have no control over… yet. I promise I'm going to figure out what happened and make sure I learn how to keep it in check. You don't have to be afraid." Aang spoke the truth – he still thought that if he could learn how to prompt whatever power he had used, it would be useful, but he wasn't going to do so until he understood exactly what it was and the consequences of using it.

"Okay," Katara breathed, her darker hand reaching up and settling over his comfortingly. "I trust you." Aang felt his face heat up at the gesture and just enjoyed the contact for a moment before pulling his arm back. He gave a little cough before talking, embarrassed.

"Where are you taking us?" he inquired, truly curious. Katara shrugged, lifting a hand to rub her eyes tiredly.

"I have no clue," she admitted. "I've never been outside of the South Pole, except with you when we went to the Southern Air Temple… wow, that was only yesterday, huh? I was just flying to get away from that ship. I don't know how far we've gone; you'd have to ask Sokka about that, he's the brainy one. Don't tell him I said that though," she added hastily. Aang giggled and nodded.

"What do you say I take over?" he suggested gently. "You need to get some sleep. You've had a long day."

"Not as long as you," Katara protested. She tried to stifle her yawn, and Aang smiled as she ruined her own argument, climbing over the edge of the saddle and sitting next to her.

"I've slept; you haven't. Go on." When Katara didn't move, he added, "Besides, I've been all over the world. We need to figure out where we are and where we're going, and I'm the only one out of the three of us who can do that."

Reluctantly, Katara passed him the reins and clambered over the saddle's edge and onto Appa's back. "Promise you'll wake me up in a few hours," she told him sternly.

Aang smiled, turning around to look at her. "Okay." After all, he hadn't actually said, 'I promise,' and the word 'few' was subjective…. When Katara had safely tucked herself into her sleeping bag, Aang turned back to the ocean ahead of him and his smile faded.

Prince Zuko would be following them very soon, if the message the previous Avatars had passed on to him was to be believed. Either Aang had to disappear and take Katara and Sokka with him, or he had to get stronger, and fast. Disappearing on his own might have been possible, but even if he had been alone Aang didn't think he could have stood to turn his back on the world again. Not after what happened the first time. Aang's hands involuntarily clenched around the reins until his knuckles turned white, tears pricking the backs of his eyes when he thought about the Fire Nation that he loved doing the horrible things he had heard and seen. He blinked once, determined not to cry. The past was behind and the future, uncertain and vast, ahead. If he couldn't – wouldn't – run, that left getting stronger. Aang wasn't naïve enough to believe that he could learn all the elements before Zuko found them the next time. He didn't even think he could master water in that time. So his options were limited to finding allies whose strength he could draw on.

Kuzon was his closest friend in the Fire Nation, and though he had been a noble and heir to one of the prevalent houses, Aang knew that he wouldn't find any help from his family. Even though they had been good friends of Gyatso, and it was possible they would want to help him, that chance was slim and relying on it dangerous. And, supposing that they were willing to aid him, Aang knew the consequences of betraying the Fire Lord. He refused to risk anyone being put through that for his sake, especially old friends. So, the Fire Nation wasn't an option. The Air Nomads were all but wiped out, and Aang had only visited the Northern Water Tribe once, long ago. Though he didn't have any significant friends there, Aang knew they would accept and most likely aid him – but they were also across the world from where he was, and he doubted that he could reach them before they were discovered. That meant that until they could reach the North Pole, they would have to seek help in the Earth Kingdom.

With a grin, Aang knew who he had to find, or at least who he had to ask after. They were going to Omashu.


	16. Whispers

Aang watched the sun rise from the corner of his eye as he flew Appa North towards Omashu. He had his legs drawn up against his body, his arms crossed over his knees and the reins held loosely in his hands as he rested his chin on his wrists in boredom. He knew that Appa could tell more or less where they were heading, and barely had to direct his friend. His deep, meditative breaths were calming and relaxing. Inevitably, he lost focus, his mind wandering.

Images flashed before his eyes.

Roku, standing in a tiled room, one finger out accusingly and a betrayed glare fixed on his face.

Kyoshi, eyes flashing and fans raised, the wind blowing her long dark hair.

Kuruk, running through an unknown, misted landscape of silvery water and gnarled trees, screaming out something Aang couldn't hear as though calling for something.

Yangchen, standing on one of the delicate bridges of the Eastern Air Temple, hands crossed behind her back as she stared forlornly into the depths of the water far, far below.

Aang blinked once, lazily.  _How odd,_  he mused silently.  _Are these images supposed to mean something? Are the Avatars trying to speak to me?_ He made no move to stop them coming, instead closing his eyes to see them better.  _If they're important,_ he reasoned,  _I had best pay attention._

Unnamed Avatars, unknown faces, swirling before him in a mass of moments and events and situations. Aang sat quietly as each one passed by, trying to discern a common theme or meaning from them. He was unsuccessful. One would appear to be training, another climbing a steep mountain pass, yet another in a Water Tribe tent eating with his family.

Then, without warning, Zuko's face leaped out at him, and Aang involuntarily flinched. He relaxed as he realized it was just another scene, and watched it unfold. The Fire Nation boy was kneeling on compacted earth, wearing loose pants and a decorative stole around his neck. He stood, and it fluttered to the ground dramatically as he spun. Aang saw not what he saw, but only his reaction: his eyes widened and he fell to the ground, bowing low.

Aang's eyes snapped open and he buried his head in his arms. He already knew what happened. He'd already witnessed this scene. There was no need to relive it.

 _Aang,_  Roku's voice said gently.  _Aang, we want you to understand all the nations. We want you to know each well, so that when the time comes, you can make an acceptable compromise._

 _I know that, Roku!_ Aang snapped uncharacteristically.  _You already told me this! But I know enough about the Fire Nation, between you and Iroh. And I know more than enough about Zuko._

The voice of his predecessor was silent. Aang figured he had spent enough energy explaining the visions to him, and didn't bother to say anything else. He was proven wrong when, a moment later, his quiet whisper echoed in his mind.  _In that, Aang, you are mistaken._

Aang decided not to argue with the elder, instead lifting his head and setting his chin on his wrists once more.  _Go away,_  he ordered finally. He sounded weary, his eyes narrow as the sunlight grew brighter and he squinted at it with a tired gaze.  _Go bother Zuko for a while._

Roku seemed to laugh, hollowly and mirthlessly.  _If the option was available to me, I would take it._ A quiet sigh filled Aang's head.  _Agni knows he'll need my help soon. If only it was mine to give…_

A parting gift, a man's face swam in Aang's vision, one with sideburns and a severe expression.  _Who is this?_ Aang asked in confusion. It didn't seem like an Avatar, though the boy couldn't have said why not, and he had never seen him before.

Roku said nothing. The image dissolved in flames.

* * *

Zuko jerked awake, gasping for breath. One hand automatically lit a flame while the other drew both swords in a single, fluid movement. By the time he registered that he was completely alone in his dark room, he was already out of bed in a sloppy, haphazard stance, the fire casting wavering shadows all over the small quarters. It took several moments and deep breaths for his heart to stop pounding and his mind to clear, familiar furniture taking the place of would-be attackers. Shaking his head, he sheathed the swords, though he kept the flame licking his fingers tamely. As an afterthought, he put the double blades back into their usual place, buried in the chest at the foot of his bed, absently wondering why they had been laying next to his bed in the first place. He thought back to before he had fallen asleep, and succeeding only in drawing up hazy memories and blanks. Discarding the thought, he looked around him and sighed.

 _Well, I'm up,_  he thought despairingly. Sleep had seemed like paradise after the hell that had lasted for the entire previous day. Had it really started with him sparring those three Marines? It seemed like an eternity ago… and he had been in a good mood when he had woken yesterday. All the events that had transpired had made a sum of a very angry, very tired, very  _unhappy_  he. Falling asleep, though difficult, had been sweet release from his troubles. A moment later, resigned to his fate and knowing he wouldn't fall asleep again, he pinched the row of candles to light and killed the fire in his hand, pulling on his breastplate with weary resignation.  _I suppose I have things to do anyway._

He paused, allowing himself a rare, brief moment of thought, his hand resting on the wrinkled skin under his left eye. Without a mirror, he could almost convince himself it was normal, just another faded, practically-regular scar, the kind that the small training burns eventually became when you stopped thinking about them. Without a mirror he couldn't see the still-angry, bright red color. He scowled, yanking his arm away and banishing his thoughts unceremoniously before striding out of the room and slamming the door behind him.

* * *

After three years, Izo didn't so much as flinch when the door to the wheelhouse flew open, slammed against the metal wall opposite it, and swung closed a moment later, crisp bootfalls a more subtle heralding of the obvious intruder's entrance. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and even though he was facing away from the room and its recent occupant, he smothered it before it could get him into more trouble than he was likely already in. He counted down in his head, one finger absently tapping the wheel.  _3…2…1…_

"What is our current position?" A sharp voice demanded, from a familiar position just behind him and to his right. The insistent smile returned.

"Roughly two miles from Esa, sir," he responded evenly.

"Estimated time of arrival?"

"T-minus fifty minutes, sir."

There were a few minutes of silence as the Prince chewed on the information, in which Izo occupied himself by steering their ship towards Port while simultaneously trying not to worry about whether their ship would get there. Without the usual company of General Iroh and whatever foolish soul he had convinced to play Pai Sho against him, the room was unusually still. Izo could hear the Prince idly tapping his fingernails on the metal table somewhere behind him. Finally, he spoke, his words slow and measured – something Izo had come to associate with a problem he didn't want anyone else to know. "Who is the Commander at Esa?"

Izo was momentarily confused. The Prince had never been concerned with who Occupied the ports they landed in. Then again, they had never stayed more than a night wherever they had stopped, and with the condition their ship was in they would certainly have to spend at least triple that in Esa getting repairs. Still, he pulled up one of the many communication pipes that ran deep into the belly of the ship – a particular one leading to the records room – and muttered a quick question to the scribe. A few seconds later, he slid the pipe back down into its hole and half-turned to Zuko. "Lieutenant Zhao, sir."

The silence was deafening. Izo waiting for an explanation, only for Zuko to get up and walk out without a word – not anything in the way of elucidations, or even any pointed, arrogant comments. Even more baffled, and now a touch concerned, Izo grabbed the pipe once more. "Hiroshi," he snapped into it. "Does the Prince have any history with this 'Lieutenant Zhao'?"

* * *

Zuko strode across the deck, eyes narrowed and calculating. When he was a few meters from his target, he called out. "Captain!"

Jee turned to him, face impassive. "Yes sir?"

Coming up next to him, Zuko stood up straight, hands clasped behind his back. "Assemble the men," he ordered stiffly. "I want all hands on deck in two minutes."

Surprise and something else flashed in the older man's eyes, but noting Zuko's mood he wisely didn't comment and started shouting out commands. The Prince stood stiffly, waiting with barely concealed impatience as he tapped his foot on the deck, counting and glaring into space as the Marines hurried into lines. After exactly 120 seconds, he took a step forward and swept his eyes over them. Immediately, they all fell silent, snapped into attention, and watched him. Zuko met their gaze silently, pacing in front of them for several seconds. Fearing this was an unexpected inspection, nobody moved an inch. Finally, Zuko stopped, and when he spoke his curious and mild voice contrasted his sharp, dangerous look.

"Can anyone tell me how long we have been at sea?"

Several of the Marines shuffled in surprise despite themselves. After a moment, one of the Corporals spoke up. "Three years, two months…sir?" It was more of a question than an answer.

Zuko nodded crisply in his direction. Without pause, he continued, "And can anyone tell me  _why?_ "

This time the men were silent, the answer – and the havoc it had caused – all too fresh in their minds. Eventually, the same Corporal answered quietly, "We were searching for the Avatar, sir."

"Correct again, Corporal." Zuko turned to him, tilting his head inquisitively, his calm tone still in place. "You have family in the capital, don't you, Sotcho?"

Some of the Marines shot confused looks at each other as the Corporal answered, "Yes, sir." He was unsuccessful at something his bewildered tone.

The Prince had never been concerned with any of them, and even less so with their personal lives. They were tools, and tools had no background. He never talked to anyone beneath Corporal in rank, even to give orders – he would give the orders to Jee, who would in turn give them to the "lowly peasants" they were. The only time he had spoken to them was the first day of their journey three years ago, when he gave them a quick, cold, and stern debriefing with a threat on the side. And suddenly, in the space of two days, he had not only kept his men from having to fight the Avatar when capturing him and saved nearly all of their lives in the fight as he escaped, but now was asking personal questions and showing concern for them. To say the least, it was disconcerting for the men. They didn't even think he knew any of their names. Oddly, they felt no small amount of relief when he snapped to attention, eyes flashing, and asked, "And do you ever want to see them again?"

Everyone stilled instantly. Zuko didn't wait for a response.

"Listen up, because I'm only going to say this once." His voice was suddenly sharp. "The Avatar is, and has been, our sole objective. More than that, he is the only chance any of us have of ever seeing the shores of the Fire Nation again." He let the words sink in. "If you want to go home, if you want to see those dear to you, you will not breathe a word of what happened last night to anyone in Port. Doing so will set any ambitious man after the Avatar, and each and every one will lower our chance of success." His eyes blazed as he looked each of them in the eye in turn. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir!" rang clearly over the deck. Zuko nodded.

"Our story is simple: we were attacked by an Earth Kingdom ship. The benders were subdued and all killed, but the damage to our ship was significant. Keep it as vague and bland as possible: we don't want individuals getting into details that contradict each other. Play it off as a bad memory you don't wish to relive if you must. Understood?"

The crew nodded, and there were several subdued "Yes sirs"s. Zuko breathed in once and relaxed out of his stiff pose. "You may collect your pay from Captain Jee when we reach port. You are permitted to spend the duration of our stay anywhere you wish – but I advise you to keep your wits about you. If I hear tell of you slipping information because you drank too much, retribution will be swift." He let the Marines register the threat. "Dismissed."

As the men saluted him, the Prince turned to Jee, who was standing just behind him, and uttered a few quiet words. When Jee nodded, he turned on his heel and walked away. His men lingered on the deck for several moments, their heavy looks conveying their mixed feelings on the unusual debriefing they'd just received. After a moment Jee shouted, "You heard the Prince! To your stations, now!"

In the mad scramble that ensued, most of them missed the proud smile he wore.

* * *

Iroh had been calmly meditating in his room when Zuko barged in without knocking. He slowly opened his eyes and set his cool, penetrating gold gaze on his nephew.

"Zhao," Zuko said simply, though his voice wavered almost imperceptibly. Iroh couldn't tell if it was anger or fear that made it do so; anger at the Avatar, residual anger and fear of the man himself, or even – most plausibly – fear of the growing possibility of losing his only pass back home.  _Probably some mixture of the three_ , he thought wryly. He noted with some surprise that the same emotions were rising in  _him_  at the thought of the situations his nephew was constantly being shoved through. Did Agni hold a personal vendetta against him, or did the spirits just torture him for their entertainment? Iroh inwardly growled at the sadly high chances that the second thought was correct. The candles jumped briefly, sensing his irritation. When he spoke though, his tone was even, and his emotions were under control once more.

"And?"

Zuko took a breath and let it out slowly, raking his fingers through his dark hair. His momentary lapse in composure passed, he steepled his hands in front of him and started pacing across the large room. "And, I've debriefed the men on the essentials of the situation," he stated, voice devoid of any feeling. "I will be instructing each of the officers to keep an eye on the Marines – I don't want a single one going anywhere without me knowing exactly where  _and_  what they're doing. I will be totally informed on all of them during our stay."

Iroh watched him measuredly from his spot on the floor. The candles around him were still flaring in time with his breathing, despite the fact that he was all but ignoring them – a feat Iroh knew Zuko was undyingly resentful of. "Do you believe that anyone on this hip would deliberately go against your order and report to Zhao?"

Zuko stopped abruptly and swung to face Iroh, his tone as pointed as his glare. "Please, Uncle. You and I both know that Father would have put someone on this ship that he knew he had complete control over. Someone to tell him if I turned traitor and started plotting to retake my throne dishonorably… because you and I  _also_  know  _exactly_  how he views me."

The candles flickered once before continuing their steady breath. "This could be true," Iroh admitted slowly, weighing each word. "Or it could be that he trusted you to quest for your honor on your own."  _As if. He wanted you away from the Fire Nation forever, or better yet, dead._ Iroh's eyes narrowed subconsciously at the thought.

Zuko snorted derisively. "I'm not the naïve little boy I used to be, Uncle. Three years of the real world has made sure of that." He turned away from the elderly man just as briskly as he had faces him and resumed his pacing. "In any case, it's just as likely – more so, really – that the spy is an officer. Therein lies my issue. You and I can't possibly watch all of them."

Iroh thought silently, filing away Zuko's words for later thought. "How many officers are there?"  _Four,_ he thought. One  _Sergeant, two Corporals, and Lieutenant Jee._

"Four," Zuko responded without thought. Iroh was inwardly impressed – Zuko actually had studied up on his crew. And he had thought the haughty (he had no delusions about his nephew's nature, however rose-colored the boy would always be from his perspective), arrogant teen didn't bother with the peasants, his crew or otherwise.

His lips curled in a tiny smile.  _Let's see how much he_ really _knows._ "Who?" Ah, how he loved playing the senile, confused-old-man part. It truly was one of his most enjoyable acts.

Zuko's step faltered. "Captain Jee," he said resolutely after a moment's hesitation. "Corporal Sotcho, Corporal Tsuka…" As he trailed off uncertainly, Iroh's smile twitched against its restrains. "And a Sergeant," he finally finished, resigned to not knowing the man's name.

Iroh nodded absently. Three out of four wasn't bad, he supposed. It was certainly leaps and bounds beyond what his nephew used to achieve during his history lessons back in the capital. Still, Lu Ten had known all of his fifty men by name, and many of their wives and children besides…

Iroh clamped down on that train of thought before it could gain any momentum, ignoring the familiar stab of pain that shot through him at the thought of his son. "Do you trust any of them?" he asked, unusually grave.

Zuko stood motionlessly by the door, his hand resting absently on the metal frame. His back was mostly toward Uncle, who hadn't moved since Zuko had entered, but he could just see the right side of his face – handsome and unmarred. The eye was narrowed in contemplation, fixed on the floor unseeingly. The silence dragged on considerably until the Prince finally sighed.

"I trust Jee," he admitted heavily, as though it were a crime – or, as Iroh reasoned had been drilled into him by Ozai, a weakness.

He nodded again, satisfied with Zuko's answer. He too trusted the Captain, and for more reasons than the boy could know. "Then he won't have to be observed."

"But that still leaves another officer – there's only two of us."

"Is there anyone on this ship you trust enough to assign the task to?" Iroh asked carefully.

Zuko turned to him, very slowly. His gold eyes were piercing, and the anger and accusation in them was all too clear, along with what appeared a hint of revelation and even humor. With more than a little surprise and admiration, he realized that Zuko had known exactly what he was supposed to answer.

"I trust none of the Marines," he spat out acidicly. "You haven't been of much assistance in straightening out the visit to Koh's lair this landing will be, but courtesy dictates I thank you." He turned around and yanked open the door, calling over his shoulder as he strode out, "I care nothing for courtesy."

Iroh broke into an uncharacteristic grin as the door slammed shut again. Even though he hadn't had the time to give the boy the long talk he had been hoping to, the meeting was still as morally productive as Iroh could hope with Zuko. Yes, the Prince was more like his sister than anyone knew, and far more skillful with words than he was given credit for.

He didn't trust any of the  _Marines._

* * *

It was around noon when Sokka finally woke up, scrubbing dirt and sleep from his eyes with a monstrous yawn. His arm and hand was stinging fiercely, coupled with a bone-deep ache he couldn't seem to ignore. He cursed inwardly at the thought of having to set the broken limb, and hoped that there would be the right supplies for doing so. Stretching, sore muscles strained and pulled, some pleasurable and other with painful tightness. Sokka grimaced, knowing that he should have expected as much after his first real battle. Resigned to the fact that he felt like an old man and refusing to act like one, he rolled out of his sleeping bag and sat up, ready to face the afternoon… only to promptly fall flat on his face.

Ah, yes. He was on the back of a two ton flying bison. Thank you for the early wake-up reality check, universe.

Sitting up again and rubbing his forehead, Sokka looked around him, grumpily taking in the sight of his sister a few feet away, snuggled soundly in her sleeping bag and fast asleep. He brought a hand up to cover his face, for the first time realizing the bright sunlight was a product of how late it was. With a rush of guilt, he realized he had slept and let the younger two of their impromptu group do the work for him. Speaking of which… his eyes grazed over the saddle, taking stock of their packs and supplies, until they came to rest on the figure riding the bison's head.

Mixed feelings competed in Sokka's stomach for a moment. He was still mad at Aang for stealing Katara – honestly, what if something had happened and he hadn't been able to protect her? – but the anger was conflicting with his awe and respect for the boy who (after that battle last night) was obviously the Avatar. Then there was that annoying, nagging feeling of brotherly love that seemed to be rearing its head at him. He was stubbornly ignoring it.

Finally, his good side won out and he crawled along the length of the saddle until he was just behind Aang. He stifled another yawn and was about to say something to alert Aang of his presence when the boy casually greeted him. "Morning, Sokka," he said cheerfully. "I was wondering when you were going to come over. I started worrying you were still mad at me."

Sokka smiled almost against his own will at the airbender's sweet, innocent tone, and with an inward sigh he finally decided to let his brotherliness take over. It couldn't hurt the kid. "Nah, I'm not mad at you," he said, before registering the first part of Aang's statement. He blinked in confusion. "Wait, you knew I was awake?"

Aang shrugged nonchalantly, his yellow and orange robes bright in the midday sun. "It's just breathing stuff… you know, air, and all that…." He trailed off timidly, like he was afraid he had crossed a line.

Sokka grinned and thumped the younger boy on the back. "That's awesome!" He paused, scratching his head in that way which only curious scientists can without looking like total idiots. "I'm not sure I get it, though."

Aang seemed pleased to be able to teach the older boy, especially something from his past. "Well, as a bender, I can feel the air currents all around me. I'm in touch with all of the wind and air in my immediate surroundings; so, I can more or less tell what direction the wind is blowing, or if there is a fire I can tell from the heat of the air and the smoke particles in it. If I'm focusing, I can tell if someone is lying based on their breathing patterns – unless they're a really _, really_  good liar. Telling if someone is asleep is a lot easier."

Sokka had stopped scratching his head and was nodding and rubbing his chin as the boy talked, doing his best to look sage as he took in the information. Not for the first time as he heard what feats Aang could accomplish with a bare application of his gift, he wished he had been blessed with bending.

His lamenting thoughts and any hope of a wise façade were forcefully wiped away as he grinned again and laughed out loud, pleased as Aang smiled when he did so. It had been Sokka's lifetime pleasure to make others laugh or smile – perhaps it was why he was always making jokes, usually the easiest ones being to his detriment. "Aang, that's like, a superpower! What else can you do?"

* * *

"Remember, Uncle: you're keeping an eye on Sotcho," Zuko hissed as they stepped off the ship. He knew he was far too uptight for his own good, but no matter how much he meditated he couldn't make himself relax. Zhao was one of the most power-hungry, ambitious men he had ever known, and here they were, willingly marching into his territory with nigh-concrete evidence of encountering the Avatar. Had he trusted his men, he probably wouldn't have been so worried. However, Zuko trusted no one, least of all soldiers.

So, Iroh's deep-bellied laugh didn't make him smile like it usually would have, and the normally comforting weight of his hand on his shoulder seemed overbearing and stifling. He shook it off with a scowl, which Iroh returned an eloquent smile. "I know, my nephew," he placated him. "And I will, rest assured. But you must remember to enjoy your stay, at least minimally. It's been nearly two months since our last stop."

Zuko straightened and opened his mouth to bite out a retort when he felt a hauntingly familiar presence behind him. He turned half a second before Zhao called out, "Gentlemen!" He didn't respond, looking the Captain up and down with narrow eyes. He couldn't help but feel that something was  _off_  with the man… but not  _wrong_. It was eerie and disconcerting, but oddly, he couldn't tear his eyes away from his inspection. It was as if he could literally  _sense_  the man, not with his sight or hearing, but something  _else._  If Iroh noticed the strange, distinguishing atmosphere that hovered around the man, he pretended not to. Zuko leaned towards the former and gradually shifted his vision away from the intruder and to his Uncle, wary and more than a little puzzled.

"Captain Zhao!" his Uncle responded affably. "It has been a while." His broad smile and comfortable postures starkly contrasted Zuko's stiff stance and grimace.

Zhao returned his Uncle's beam, stopping his approach a few feet from the duo, but even the endearing expression seemed cold and calculation on his face. "It's Commander now," he corrected, unable to hide the self-satisfaction in his voice. "I haven't been a Captain for some time now… which is, of course, your point, General Iroh," he added quickly. "It is my honor to host you here, Dragon of the West," he shifted, "and  _Prince_  Zuko."

Zuko clenched his fists in an attempt to ignore the obvious sneer in the man's voice at his title. Zhao smirked at his reaction, which only made Zuko have to try even harder, before turning towards their ship. Zuko inwardly flinched as the man's eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. His mouth opened to say something, but he fumbled in his surprise for a moment before swallowed. Zuko couldn't help but feel that it was an overreaction – something uncommon in the Court born-and-raised man. "That's quite a bit of damage," the Commander finally managed. He moved to peer at Zuko in the eye, and the Prince glared at his challenging disrespect. "I take it this is not a social visit?"

"No," Zuko snapped ungratefully. "We are here for repairs, and then we will be on our way."

Zhao's mouth twisted into a slight smirk, and Zuko could all but see the gears whirling in the man's eyes. "I'm sure that the story of your ship's… disrepair… would be quite the entertaining tale. Would you care to join me for a cup of tea?"

Disgust boiled in the Prince's stomach, and he knew it showed on his face and found himself uncaring. "I just said this isn't a social occasion, and I'm afraid our time here is short,  _Commander."_  The Prince turned his back on the snake and took half a step before he felt Iroh grab his shoulder in a seemingly light grip. Only its victims knew that it would be as impossible to break away from as an iron chain.

"Prince Zuko."

He flinched against as his will at the seldom-heard anger in his tone. He wasn't ashamed to admit that the voice terrified him; it meant that his Uncle was disappointed in him, and the very thought was appalling. The boy stilled instantly.

"Do not disrespect our host," Iroh continued gravely. Though Zuko was pointedly looking the other way, he knew Iroh turned back to Zhao. "Tea would be lovely."

Zuko took a calming breath to stifle his exasperated sigh and turned around slowly until he was once more face to face with the Commander. Zhao was smirking openly at him, hands clasped behind his back, waves of smug contempt practically rolling off of him. He waited several seconds, likely for an apology – one which the Prince had zero intention of giving. Finally, Zhao's sneer only grew. "Ah, don't fret over it, General Iroh. Three years at sea was bound to only worsen the boy's already short temper. It certainly has done nothing to curb his tongue. Though, you would have thought he had learned some respect after his  _lesson…_ " He trailed off and shook his head in mock despair.

Zuko's mind went utterly bare at the implications, replaced by a blanket of cold shock and anger. He hardly even registered that he was shaking with barely contained fury, heat seeping from between the knuckles of his painfully tight fists. It was only Iroh's grasp tightening on his shoulder – something Zuko had previously thought impossible – that stopped him from lashing out then and there. Seeing this, amusement flickered darkly in Zhao's eyes before he turned crisply on his heel.

"Please, I would be flattered to host the Firelord's own brother and son at my home. Follow me," he called lightly over his shoulder.

Zuko spun on his Uncle silently, glaring wrathful daggers. Iroh just leveled him with a heavy, dark look, so dispassionate and unlike the man that he felt most of his anger dissipate.  _Wait,_  Iroh seemed to convey.  _This is a delicate situation. We should tread carefully._

Reluctantly, Zuko nodded, though his heart was still thudding from the pointed jabs Zhao had thrown at him. With a glance at the man's turned back, he squared his jaw, mustered every ounce of courage he had, and set after the psychological torturer.

* * *

Zuko  _hated_  Zhao. No, he didn't just hate him, he  _loathed_  every  _fiber_  of the man's being.

The sullen Prince sat stiffly at the table, though the cushion under him was plush and comfortable. He couldn't believe the Commander's blatant, audacious disrespect towards him. Did he have the bright gold eyes of Sozin's line, Agni's blessed? Did he have the Pheonix tail? Zuko was a Prince – Zhao's prince, in fact – and the man had no place treating him like a disgrace.

Whispers in a high, girlish voice echoed in the back of his mind.  _You are a disgrace, Zuzu. You're nothing but a failure. You don't deserve the eyes, you don't deserve the throne._

He stoically ignored them.

Zuko had forgotten that Zhao knew of his banishment. After three years of Uncle being the only one in his company that was party to the circumstances of his search, he had grown used to the fearful, hateful, and occasionally mutinous looks his men shot him when they thought he wasn't watching. But on the other hand, he had completely forgotten the looks of disgust and shame that had been trained on him during his exodus from the palace, and the scathing, lingering remarks of the Capital soldiers.

Above all, no one had  _ever_  mentioned that incident to his face. The memory of that day was so vivid in the Prince's mind he could recall every tiny detail as though he were reliving it – which is why he avoided thinking about it at all.

Zhao obviously didn't just take sadistic pleasure in bringing it up, but turning it into a metaphorical scythe and  _carving_  Zuko with it.

The teen was practically buzzing with irritation as he stared into the depths of his untouched tea, suspicious of anything the Commander offered him. He wouldn't put it past the man to poison him for some reason or another. It would only be one more thing on his long list of reasons why today was one of the worst days of his existence.

Sudden racking coughs violently jerked Zuko out of his brooding. He snapped his head to his left to see Iroh doubled over, the source of the sound, and Zhao eyeing him with obvious satisfaction. Zuko glared.

"Unlce." His sharp tone almost succeeded in masking his concern. Honestly, he thought enough not to drink Zhao's beverages; just because it was tea did not mean that Iroh should have blindly accepted it.

"Ah, so you have returned to us, Prince Zuko," Zhao purred sarcastically. Somehow, he managed to say it with a completely straight face.

Zuko was just as subtly acerbic. He barely narrowed his eyes before responding neutrally, "I must have gotten bored." He glanced at Iroh, whose coughs had mostly abated and were now reduced to small choking sounds. "What is wrong with my Uncle?"

Zhao laughed coldly, the chilling sound making Zuko watch him suspiciously. "The tea must have not been to his liking," he answered elusively.

Iroh straightened, wiping his beard with the back of one hand. "The tea is delicious, Zhao. Pardon an old man his mistakes," he said, before Zuko could speak. He smiled, but Zuko noted it seemed strained. "I didn't hear your question, I'm afraid. Would you repeat it?"

Zuko had the decency to feel a flash of shame for his absolute insolence in comparison to his Uncle's humble courtesy, but the moment was obliterated as Zhao gingerly lifted his cup, a dark smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "I asked," he said casually, "how your search for the Avatar has been proceeding."

He sipped calmly as Zuko and Iroh stared at him in silence. Finally, knowing he had to say something quickly, Zuko cleared his throat.

"We haven't found him," he managed. He choked on the words and looked away, his mouth dry with nervousness, but he was fairly sure it would be mistaken for disappointment and bitterness. He gritted his teeth as Zhao's unnerving laughter filled the tent.

"Did you really expect to?" he crooned. Zuko lifted his face to look him in the eye, and it took a great deal of effort to keep from saying anything on the contrary. Cruel pleasure flashed in the older man's eyes at the motion. "He's dead, and he has been dead for a hundred years, just like all the other airbenders. Your quest, really, is hopeless."

 _I have more hope than ever,_  Zuko though, glaring defiantly at Zhao with his head high and back.  _And I won't have it snatched away by the likes of you._

Instead, he said stiffly, "Don't speak to me of hope, Commander," when he was composed enough to sound logical. "Hope is for children and impossible challenges. I am not a child, and you will find that it is not hope that drives me, but will." He stood and offered the smallest of bow's in Zhao's direction, never taking his eyes off the other man's. "Come, Uncle. We are leaving."

Zuko turned crisply, expecting to stride out of the stifling atmosphere of the tent and into the familiar scent of salty air and moist breezes, only to pull up short. Two guards stood in his way. He gestured at them impatiently, but they didn't move.

Iroh spoke before Zuko could. "What is the meaning of this, Zhao?" His voice was uncommonly tight. Zuko twisted with painful calm to look at his antagonizer again, his face an impenetrable mask. Zhao smiled from his seat, not bothering to stand.

"I am impressed, Prince Zuko," he admitted, sounding far too pleased. "Your skill at lying has far improved since I last knew you. You are shaping up to be… well, I wouldn't say acceptable, but you are at least moving towards mediocrity."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Zhao," Zuko interjected in a monotone voice. His emotions were tripping up and down, his heart racing, his mind stuttering as he tried to grasp the slipping strands of control he had over the situation.

"Oh, I think you do," Zhao countered. He finally rose gracefully to his feet and looked past Zuko at one of the guards. "Report."

"We have gathered our statement from our supporters on the crew, Sir," he replied quickly, his voice metallic from behind the red and white helm. "It's true that the Avatar was in Prince Zuko's custody and that he let him escape."

Zuko stiffened automatically, and he didn't bother to hide his shocked anger. He knew he couldn't trust the men, but even so, he had thought… he had hoped…

Damn it to Koh's lair, Zhao was right. He had  _hoped_. He really was nothing but a naïve child.

Sensing his defeat, Zhao stalked up to him and put his face mere inches from Zuko's, his twisted, dark smile fixed in place. "Now," he breathed, "what was the neat little cover story you told them? Something about an Earth Kingdom ship?"

Zuko said nothing. His mind was racing, his stomach churning as he thought of the betrayal he had just been dealt. From nowhere, Iroh appeared behind him and set his hand on his shoulder once more. He glared at Zhao so darkly that the Commander actually paled and took a half-step back before steeling himself. He straightened smugly and nodded over Zuko's shoulder to the guard. "Tie them up," he ordered happily.

"You can't do that, Zhao." Zuko finally spoke up, his voice low and dangerous. "I am the Prince of the Fire Nation. You have no jurisdiction over me."

Zhao, who had turned his back to them, paused in rolling his maps and faced the teen. "Really?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Because, as I recall, you are a  _banished_ Prince, the biggest disgrace in our history and a shame to the royal line. How I remember the law, any Commander of any Occupied Port could and should detain any and all traitors to the Fire Nation that land aground in their jurisdiction." He tilted his head, his grin acidic. "And last I checked, you are a traitor, an  _ex-_ Prince, and completely and utterly under my control."

"My father will not take kindly to you when he hears of this," Zuko ground out in a weak approximation of a threat. Zhao just laughed.

"Your father? You really think he wants you back? You're nothing but a humiliation to him. Your father was the one that scarred you and sent you out on a foolhardy mission as a thirteen-year-old boy. Had he really wished you home, he would have revoked his sentence long ago." Zhao's gold eyes shimmered with perverse glee. "But the truth is, Prince Zuko, that your scar is the sum of everything your father thinks of you." He smirked. "Absolutely nothing."

Zuko couldn't hold back any longer. He shook off Iroh's hand roughly and crossed the room in one step before either of the guards could react. He had Zhao's collar in one hand and a flame flickering in his other in the blink of an eye, his face contorted with loathing and rage. "Perhaps you'd like one to match?" he all but screamed. He found sick satisfaction in the fear reflecting in the older man's eyes, dancing with the firelight that hovered by his face. It only lasted a moment, as one of the guards quickly came up behind him and grabbed both wrists in an iron hold, pinning them behind his back and twisting his arms painfully. Zuko snarled ferally, but he had gotten the reaction he wanted. Zhao straightened his hair – it was not lost on Zuko that his hand was shaking – before his composure was regained.

"Is that a challenge?" he asked coolly.

Zuko glowered at him, but his mouth twisted upwards in a crude smile. "You really  _are_ perceptive, Zhao."

Anger flickered quickly in his expression, and Zuko's smile grew. "I accept," Zhao said quickly. "Tomorrow at sunset; Agni Kai." His eyes snapped behind Zuko, to where the other guard was holding Iroh. He held his gaze silently for a long moment before speaking. "Tell me, General; how would you like to witness a repeat of that day? You'll have front row seats, of course, just like before. You can see your nephew humiliated, scarred, and at the end of the day, still just the weak and pathetic boy he has always been." He slid his stare back to the Prince. "If only he was your father," he lamented.

Gathering his scroll again, he gestured vaguely to the guards. "Keep them here," he ordered as he strode out of the tent. Zuko and Iroh watched him silently, both of them leveling dagger-filled stares at his back. As soon as the Commander was gone, the soldiers let the two of them go, though they stayed in ready stances.

"It would be easier if you didn't attempt anything," the one holding Iroh said smoothly. He sounded almost respectful and regretful as he addressed the elderly man. Iroh nodded curtly.

"Leave us," he demanded. To Zuko's shock, they nodded with a crisp salute and did as they were told. As if breaking the dam, that one simple emotion left him crumpled. Numb, he slumped to the ground. Had the guards still been there, he never would have allowed himself the moment of weakness. However, with only his Uncle, he let his exhaustion take over. Iroh was at his side in less than a moment, crouching next to him.

"Zuko." His firm voice cut through the swirling haze of thoughts in his mind. The teen turned his head as he was addressed and looked at his Uncle, who simply said, "I'm sorry." It had so many meanings, so many connotations, and somehow, Zuko absorbed them all.

"Is it true?" He didn't explain the vague question, but just as Iroh knew he understood his apology, he trusted his Uncle to decipher it. The older man hesitated before shaking his head.

"No," he responded quietly. "I don't believe so."

Zuko took a calming deep breath and moved so he was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He smiled weakly. "I thought you were going to give me a confusing, useless proverb about truth and the universe," he joked.

Iroh beamed back, but it didn't touch his eyes. "Some simple questions deserve a straight answer."

Zuko snorted. "You've never thought that before."

"Then maybe I though a lengthy anecdote would take time out of your preparation for tomorrow." Iroh paused, and a brief smile graced his elderly face. "It's odd, that both times you have been in an Agni Kai  _I_  have been the one to train with you beforehand."

His words brought a frown to Zuko's face. After a moment's pause, he hesitantly replied, "I lost my temper. Challenging as Master was not a wise thing to do."

Iroh shifted until he sat across from his nephew, also in a meditative position. "Perhaps not," he conceded. "But where did all of your 'I am not afraid' confidence go?"

Zuko closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. "Contrary to what Zhao believes," he eventually answered, measuring each word, "I  _have_  learned my lesson."

Silence reigned as Iroh soaked up the words. Finally, he straightened and smiled at Zuko. "Then you know what exercise I'm going to give you, Oh One of Great Memory."

Zuko's scowl was good-natured. "Where are you going to find a leaf in this tent?"

* * *

As was tradition, the sun was setting off to Zuko's right as he crouched in the ceremonial position, his knuckles lightly resting on the compacted sand of the arena. His eyes were closed and he could feel the heat on the unscarred side of his face, the distinguishing mark cast in cool shadow. He was taking deep, calm breaths, his heart rate even as though he was in the eye of the storm. He felt perfectly at ease, happy even, with the shallow light hitting his face comfortingly…

"Remember your basics, Prince Zuko," Iroh muttered, interrupting his moment of peace. Zuko sighed and nodded, collecting himself. He stood with a flourish, knowing without turning that Zhao had waited before doing so himself. He felt a small fire of anger kindle in his heart at the obvious contempt in the action – it showed that he considered him weak enough to show him his back without worry. Zuko squashed the anger, and the impulse to attack the man off the bat to prove his mistake.

 _Basics, Zuko_ , he reminded himself.  _And that means, staying calm and_ _ **honorable**_ _._

Zhao had stood by then, his ceremonial stole fluttering in the evening coastal breeze for a brief moment before it crumpled on the ground. His four attendants stepped back and out of the arena to join the dozens of sailors and citizens of the port that had come to watch the duel. Zhao shot him a cocky smirk, sinking into stance.

"This will be over quickly," he assured no one in particular, instead addressing the considerable crowd.

"I would agree with you, if I weren't against the principle," Zuko replied coolly, as he too balanced on the balls of his feet, every muscle relaxed. When the gong sounded, Zhao tensed, obviously expecting the Prince to rush at him. Unnerved by Zuko's apparently calm demeanor, Zhao watched him for a moment more, gauging him. Zuko waited patiently, a hint of a smile tugging his lips. The arena was deathly silent.

Zhao sprung forward silently, feigning a close attack, only to leap backwards on his hands and shoot several long-range fireballs. Zuko stayed rooted to his spot loosely, dodging each with a simple twist of his foot. He kept his hands up in front of him in defense. Zhao stopped his distance attacks and watched Zuko measuredly.

"Why don't you fight back?" he called tauntingly after a moment, obviously trying to provoke Zuko. The Prince was having none of it.

"Oh, those were aimed at me?" he returned, the sarcastically curious tone mimicking Zhao's. "If that last display says anything, if you aimed anywhere  _but_ here you might actually hit me."

Zhao's eyes narrowed at the barb, and more so at the quiet snickers from the crowds. After a moment, he scowled, probably inwardly wondering how the Prince had so easily avoided his shots. Instead, he cried, "I see we'll need to turn up the heat!" This time, when he jumped forward, he let his momentum carry him into a combination of punches, each sending a small, controlled fireball from his knuckles. Zuko ran forward, straight for the barrage, drawing gasps from the spectators. At the last second, he ducked into a somersault and rolled underneath them, springing to his feet inside Zhao's guard. He sent a well-aimed punch at the older man's stomach, fist flaming.

Zhao was good at close combat, though, and blocked the blow with the back of one gauntlet, diffusing the flame, the other hand coming up to strike Zuko in the neck while one foot snaked out to trip him. Zuko quickly back-handspringed to make some distance, but the Commander pressed his advantage and rushed after him. Without pause, Zuko jumped into another back-handspring, knowing that Zhao would come close to him to attack him while his feet were in the air. Instead, he caught Zhao off-guard by shooting blades of fire from the base of his feet as they whirled in an arc over his head, keeping him at bay.

As soon as his toes touched the ground, Zuko brought his hands up in a similar arc to buy time. Zhao was just outside the zone of flame, the whips licking the Prince's fingers roughly a meter long. Zuko let them die as his hands approached his body again, and the two stood face to face in ready position once more, and if the crowds were making any noise, Zuko couldn't hear them.

"Are you impressed?" Zuko couldn't help but ask tauntingly.

Zhao didn't hesitate, his eyes alight with fury. "No!" he growled, springing forward.

Zuko watched the flaming punch with a calculating eye, not moving. When it came within inches of his face, he brought one foot back and neatly sidestepped it, turning Zhao's momentum against him. The older man was flung forward as his punch didn't connect, but he quickly recovered by sloppily rolling and jumping back to his feet several feet away. He was openly scowling now, his forehead and bare chest covered in a light sheen of sweat. He returned to combinations, this time adding flaming, passionate kicks into the mix. Zuko stood his ground. He blocked all of them, some with a dismissive swipe of his hand, others with a punch that diffused them midair. He waited until the blasts had grown weak and leaped forward, left arm trailing behind him with a powerful head of fire wreathed around his fist. Zhao watched it warily and stepped into a defensive stance subconsciously. Zuko picked up his speed until he was sprinting, and he let out a feral cry as he came within a foot of hitting his target.

Zhao went to block the blow.

Zuko neatly flipped over his head, landed behind him, spun, and jabbed his unfirey hand precisely into the small of Zhao's back.

The Commander doubled over in pain.

Zuko swiped his feet out from under him with a wide kick, using its momentum to spin him around. The flame on his left hand grew as he spun, and as he faced Zhao once more, who had by then rolled onto his back, he stopped – and it hovered just above the man's left eye.

The arena was eerily silent. Zhao looked up at him, their eyes locked together. Fear, hatred, jealously, contempt, shame, and anger all boiled in their depths, and Zuko tried to choose which was the most prominent. Shame seemed to be taking the stage, but the man stubbornly refused to look away.

"Do it!" he hissed vehemently.

Zuko looked down at him, the emotions playing across his face, and suddenly he flashed back to that day three years ago.  _He felt the sudden heat as his father lit flames on his fists. He looked up, hoping that he was hallucinating the sense, to see that Ozai had stepped back and was in his stance, one fist pointed straight at his face. The flames were already moving towards him. He knew he had no chance of moving out of their way._

Zuko straightened and the flame crisply cut out. "You cede?" he demanded, his voice even despite the memories rushing through his mind.

Zhao glared up at him. He turned his face away, as though he were to bitterly spit out the dreaded words without meeting the Prince's eyes, only to hurdle to his feet a moment later with a savage yell and a burning fist aimed at Zuko's face.

Before Zuko could react – and his hand was already halfway to intercepting the blow – Iroh was suddenly there, his hand clasped around the fist, steam diffusing from his fingers. Without moving a muscle, he gripped the hand and flung the Commander backwards with only his wrist. Zhao flew several meters before coming to a skidding stop. Zuko could only watch in mute surprise and admiration.

Finally, belatedly, the spectators let out a few sparse cheers, the clapping hesitant, as though they were unsure of just what had happened over the course of the fight. Iroh turned on his heel and put a hand on Zuko's shoulder. His smile was genial as he looked up at the taller boy.

"Perfect, Zuko. Not a hair out of place."

Zuko smiled back, relief and overwhelming pride flooding through him. He restrained the urge to laugh out loud, the sheer joy and giddiness of his victory flooding through his limbs. He hadn't been tired after his fight – he hadn't even broken a sweat – but suddenly he felt like running across the Earth Kingdom and taking down as many earthbenders as possible along the way. He did his best to contain his energy, but he knew there was a certain spring in his step as he strode out of the arena, completely ignoring Zhao's violent glare.

Iroh stopped as they reached the edge of the field, the hand that had never left his shoulder tightening briefly to signal the pause to Zuko. He turned back to Zhao, distaste written all over his features. "Even in exile, my nephew is more honorable than you.  _Disgusting._ " He bowed once, mockingly, a bare inch. "Thank you for the tea," he added, so polite it was painful, his tone so sweet it hurt. "It was delicious. I believe the repairs to our vessel will be completed tomorrow by midday. You will not be required to see us off the docks."

With that word, he started walking again, and Zuko followed cheerily. "Did you mean that?" he hesitantly asked.

Iroh didn't look at him when he answered, but the skin around his eyes wrinkled, and Zuko knew the familiar sign meant that his Uncle was about to tell him something equal parts infuriating and morally instructive. "Of course – jasmine is my favorite."

Zuko stared at him openly for a moment, and then tossed back his head and laughed. Iroh, seemingly surprised at the sudden gesture, joined him after a moment, and the two made their way back to the ship in high spirits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Point to people who can correctly tell me which moves of his Agni Kai represented the bending styles of each nation. Big points to anyone who can correctly answer Kyoshi's question of "HOW?!" Lots of symbolism and foreshadowing in this chapter too - bonus if you figure out any of those! And some more if you figure out the betrayer... wow. I like points, don't I?


	17. Open Your Mind

Iroh slipped through the rainy alleys of Esa as the streets beneath him melted into a pale liquid mud. He pulled his brown cloak tighter around him and the hood farther over his distinguishing topknot, his bootsteps light splashes in the puddles already beginning to form. He looked around him as he reached a lighted building-front, surreptitiously surveying his surroundings for followers. Sure that he was alone, he quickly ducked into the tavern, the dark light furthering his guise as an innocuous old and fat merchant. He hovered by the door for a moment, carefully cataloguing the dingy place's inhabitants. In one corner, a group of four of his own men, who had barely looked up at his entry and were sitting quietly, nearly-untouched ale tankards clasped in their hands and heavy looks on their downcast faces. Next to them, nearest to the hearth, was a pair of who appeared to be Zhao's soldiers; they wore the Occupier uniforms, with their rich black tunics and cloaks embroidered with the earth kingdom coin engulfed in fire. Their armor was a simple breastplate worn under the overlay and tall red boots similar to the Marines', but they spoke volumes for the soldier's views of superiority and aristocracy. He watched them warily for a moment, but they were merely talking and laughing amongst themselves. A few indefinable people were hunched over in the corner to the left of the door, whispering. They wore nondescript black tunics and cloaks, their hoods back to reveal lightly tanned faces and dark hair. A group of Earth Kingdom merchants or well-off fisherman sat on the opposite side of the tavern, glowering at the Fire Nation men.

Standing in the middle of the bar, bisected by the door, Iroh had the distinct feeling he was in a demilitarized zone.

After a moment's pause, he strode up the counter where a tired-looking man in a dirty apron stood wiping out glasses. The bartender lifted his eyes – nondescript brown – to meet Iroh's face, which was shrouded by his hood. They narrowed in suspicion at the man's obvious secrecy. "Can I help you?" he asked tersely.

Iroh tried to smile in a way the man would see, unwilling to show his face. "Is Hiromitsu still available here?" he asked, careful to make his voice lower and more gravelly. It would hardly do for his men to recognize him inquiring after an Earth Kingdom man.

The man only regarded him with more open mistrust, littered with surprise. Finally, he set down the glass and cloth with a quiet  _chink_  on the wood counter. "I can give him a message for you, if you wish."

Iroh inclined his head respectfully. "If it's not too much trouble, please, extend an invitation to a game of Pai Sho."

The man nodded curtly and shuffled through a door to the back of the small inn, where Iroh assumed the kitchens were. He contemplated sitting while waiting for his return, but with a quick glance at the juxtapositioned inhabitants of the tavern he rapidly decided against it and remained by the counter. He cursed silently as one of the Earth Kingdom men rose to his feet, shrugging off the whispers of his friends, and walked over to him. "Too afraid to pick a side?" he growled under his breath, his bitter and accusing hazel eyes obviously having caught his fleeting indecision. Iroh considered him sadly, shifting to his right slightly to face the man.

"I find it is more that I am too unbiased," he said carefully. "I do not enjoy conflict."

"Coward," the Earthman hissed. "It doesn't matter if you're one of us or one of them." He nodded at the group behind Iroh. "You're just a fat old man out to get money from all of us. If you're from the Fire Nation, you obviously are too apathetic to believe the genocidal propaganda they spout, or too desensitized to care. And if you're one of us… you're just a coward willing to let them beat your spirit into the ground. I have no respect for merchants like you." He glared at Iroh for a long second, his hand fingering the hilt of a knife strapped in his belt. "Worthless," he spat.

Iroh shook his head with a weary chuckle. "You don't understand, sir," he muttered. The other men fell silent, their curiosity piqued by the far-from-hushed conversation in the middle of the bar. "When one people conquer another, all distinctions of the victim and the ruler are lost when the two cultures eventually mingle. Do you not see it all around you? Yes, there is conflict; yes, there is occasionally bloodshed. But is not Esa essentially the same quiet port you once knew, with some new people and new customs you may not hate added in?"

The man scowled at him, his red-rimmed eyes flashing. Iroh honestly couldn't be sure if it was from drinking or crying that they were chaffed, but he felt a surge of pity nonetheless. "You're wrong. I hate  _everything_ about those bloody Reds," he spat.

Iroh smirked knowingly. "As I see it, you really are not very different from them," he admitted truthfully.

"Why you… I'm  _nothing_  like them!" He went to draw the knife, and Iroh sighed as he raised an arm almost lazily to stop the attack. In the moment before the man could pull out the weapon, however, his friends had risen and grabbed his arms, pulling him back and restricting him, even as the Occupier Guard had jumped in front of Iroh defensively. With a glance behind him, the General noted that the odd group of tan men hadn't moved, but were watching the proceedings with a cold and considering eye. His own Marines seemed contemplating helping the guard, but knew better than to intrude where they weren't necessary – or welcome. The man directly in front of Iroh, a tall younger man with a single silver chevron clipped to the shoulder of his cloak, held out his hands in front of him in a nonthreatening gesture.

"Please, Shin," he said calmly. "You know I don't want to hurt you, so don't go around attacking civilians when I'm right here." Iroh heard the companionable laugh in his tone and was surprised despite himself.

The Earth Kingdom man – Shin, Iroh reminded himself – hung his head in defeat with an angry snarl. His friends saw fit to release him, and he looked up sharply, bending around the Lieutenant to glare at Iroh. "Don't ever suggest that I'm like those filthy Reds," he ordered him. "I could never even  _like_  them. They've destroyed everything."

The Lieutenant snorted. "Don't be melodramatic, Shin. If I had destroyed everything, we wouldn't have this tavern for the both of us, now would we? You wouldn't even be alive."

Iroh frowned. Yes, that seemed more like the arrogant Guard he knew. He was even more surprised when Shin gave a low chuckle. "Fair enough," he conceded. "Lucky you were here to stop me from beating the fat idiot into a bloody pulp as I would have liked to, Kyosuke."

The Lieutenant rolled his eyes. "I have never known you to be a violent man, Shin. Brash and short-tempered, yes, but I would like to believe you wouldn't take it out on an innocent man who is just as likely Green as Red." Iroh's eyes drank in the sight of the firebender daring to reach across the invisible line and grasp Shin's shoulder in an affable grip. "Come, I will buy you a drink to calm down, and then you and the rest of your renegade party will go home." His tone turned steely. "Curfew at eleven, don't forget it."

Shin grumbled as the soldier steered him towards the counter, but put up no real resistance. The Lieutenant raised his hand in a lazy signal for the rest of his men to drop their protective semicircle around Iroh and return to their seats, and soon the two at the bar were caught in a calm, if guarded, conversation. Iroh couldn't help but grin inwardly at the sight.

The fools didn't believe him when they were the very answer themselves.

A light tap on his shoulder made Iroh spin around, but when he saw who it was, he lowered himself to be on the diminutive man's eye level. He smiled widely at the welcome sight. "Hiromitsu! It has been a long time."

The old man nodded, peering into Iroh's eyes through the gloom of his hood, his mouth in a small frown. Iroh stared back for a moment before leaning closer. "Do you think we may find a room to set out our board?" he asked. With a wry chuckle, he added, "I don't believe the patrons here would appreciate my company for any longer than necessary."

Silently, the old man turned and headed for the stairwell, Iroh a step behind. They climbed the short flight in silence, turning into the first room on the left and closing the door behind them. The smaller man moved over to the table in the corner of the room expectantly, sinking into one of the chairs as Iroh followed him with a weary expression.

"I'm sorry, Hiromitsu," he said, "but I don't have time to play a full game. I have urgent matters to attend to. I suppose this will have to do as a matter of my identification." More for the formalities than anything, he slipped his favored White Lotus tile from his sleeve, running his fingers over the familiar and worn ridges before handing it to his companion. Hiromitsu held it up to his silvery eyes, scrutinizing it carefully, but quickly smiled and handed it back to him. He gestured to the seat across from him, and Iroh gratefully pulled it up and sat.

"Grandmaster Iroh no Azulon… you know the rest." He smiled drily and pulled off his hood to reveal his severe topknot. "I suspect you don't want to waste time, so I will address exactly what I came here for." He paused; one does not lightly make demands of a Guru, but he had little other choice. This was how he would play the tiles he had been dealt. "I've come to ask a favor of you, and your people."

 _What is it that you wish, friend?_ The very air around Iroh seemed to shimmer and speak to him, though Hiromitsu never so much as shifted his lips. Iroh shivered despite himself, the sense of tingling magic trickling down his spine. The Guru never spoke, but he often communicated directly if the need was present. His voice was deep, calming, and hypnotic, echoing in Iroh's mind long after the air had calmed. Iroh considered his wording as carefully as the Guru had avoided agreeing or refusing to grant him what he asked for.

"If you would be so kind," Iroh started carefully, "I believe contacting one of your brethren and inquiring if they would wait at the Southern Air Temple for Aang's return, I believe they could impart some spiritual knowledge to the boy – maybe enough to prevent an occasion such as…" he trailed off, knowing the Guru would know what he was referring to and wishing to steer clear of the dark memories for the man he knew was approaching two centuries of age. He drily wished he had the same blessing of long life, but dismissed the thought quickly. It did no good to dwell on his inadequacies.

Hiromitsu reflected carefully. He was not one to act brashly, and Iroh would have been disappointed if the man hadn't proceeded with his proposition cautiously. Finally, though, the man reached into his modest beige (Iroh thought he saw a hint of yellow and orange in the fabric) robes and pulled out a Pai Sho tile of his own, offering it to Iroh on a flat palm. He reached over and took it, and a smile tugged the corner of his lips.

_The wheel. The tile that causes those around it to move, though it loses the player a point in the end of the game._

Iroh looked up and met the Guru's eyes, gold to shimmering silver. Hiromitsu nodded solemnly yet again.

 _We will play our part in this war, Grandmaster Iroh no Azulon,_  the air whispered, shifting and murmuring. _Let it not be said that we stood by and watched the destruction burn around us. The Guru will aid the Avatar._

Iroh shivered and pulled up the cloak of his hood. "Thank you, Hiromitsu. You know this contribution will not go forgotten."

Hiromitsu stood, and the two bowed to each other. Iroh made his way to the door, but froze with his hand on the knob as the man behind him offered a parting 'word'.

_I wish you luck on your journey, Prince Iroh._

Iroh turned slowly to see his smirking face, and returned a sad smile. "I have not gone by that name for a long time, Hiromitsu. And I don't plan to take it up again." He pushed open the door. "Thank you again. I hope your future is gentle and kind."

Hugging his cloak tighter around him, Iroh banished the memories that swirled in his mind, stirred up by the quiet mental provocation the Guru had imparted on him. He pushed familiar old faces out of his mind and descended the stairs. The bar was quiet when he reached the first floor, the Earth Kingdom merchants and his own four Marine having left the odd trio in the corner and the Occupier soldiers to sit quietly amongst themselves. Iroh cast them but a quick parting glance as he left the inn, waltzing back out into the stormy city and pausing only to toss the bartender a coin. He looked out on the raining ocean and the port stretched out before him with a sigh, spotting his nephew's ship far below on the water's edge. He felt it would be a long night.

* * *

"State your business."

Aang looked up and sighed at the rock that hovered over his head by the will of the city guard. He was cast in its large, cool shadow and could feel its threatening weight looming over him. It was hardly a way to greet a guest, he thought, shaking his head sadly. "Since when did this city get so paranoid?" he mumbled.

The guard scowled at him and the rock descended a few inches, making Katara and Sokka cry out behind him. Aang held up his hand to stop them from advancing towards him, watching the guard warily as he spoke. "In case you didn't notice, kid, there's a war going on. We don't have the luxury of being  _nice_ ," he sneered.

Aang smiled sadly, his arm falling to his side. "That really is too bad. I'd say the war is going on  _because_  people stopped being nice, wouldn't you?"

The man's warning growl was the only message Aang needed. He held up his hands in defeat and a show of innocence. His smile grew until it was positively radiant, and the guard eyed him suspiciously and let the rock fall another inch. "State your business," he repeated gruffly. "I really don't wanna hurt you," he admitted somewhat abashedly.

Aang gave a little nervous chuckle. "Umm… I need to see King Huang. It's kind of an emergency."

"King Huang?" The guard looked genuinely surprised. He hesitated before answering, for the first time sounding confused and more than a little pitying. The rock lifted away a few feet, but still hovered in range, though the guard seemed to have assessed the bald child as less than threatening. "Kid, the old King died decades ago."

Aang froze with his hands up, his gray eyes wide with shock and silent despair. He hung his head after a moment and brought his arms up to rub his stinging eyes, hissing quietly. With an indeterminate sound of sympathy, his female companion sprung forward and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and the boy came forward to give the city man a steely glare as one hand descended on Aang's arm. The guard watched the trio in bewilderment, wondering why the young boy who couldn't have been enough to even know about the previous King was so upset by the old news.

Finally, Aang looked up, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears and determination. "King Huang didn't have any heirs, the last I heard. Who is the new King?"

The guard shook his head, and finally let the rock drop away from them and into the abyss far below the mountainside. "He's hardly a 'new' King," the teen scoffed. "King Bumi has held the throne for almost eighty years now. Few people even remember Huang's name anym-"

"King Bumi?" Aang's face was caught between an expression of wild hope and shock. "Bumi who? Is that his first or last name?"

The guard took an involuntary step backwards at the onslaught of questions from the feral-eyed child. "F-first," he stuttered. Aang stepped forward with him, the two children flanking him hanging back and watching the younger kid carefully.

"What's his last?" Aang demanded, his stare hungry.

"Nobody knows!" The guard cried. "He was an orphan! When the King knew he was dying and he wanted to find an heir, he held an earthbending contest for the next King. It was long before I was even born, I don't know what happened, but I guess Bumi won. What does it mean to you anyway?"

Aang pulled himself up to his full – though hardly formidable – height and  _beamed_  at the city guard. "I am the Avatar," he said candidly.

The young man's eyebrows shifted to his hairline and he shrunk back in fear, whilst Aang continued, oblivious to his reaction.

"And Bumi-" He strode by the shell-shocked guard, beckoning for his friends and Appa to follow; "is my best friend."

* * *

"Bumi!" Aang rushed forward, fully intent on launching himself forward to hug the King, only to find his path blocked by two spear-wielding guards, who raised an eyebrow and scowled at him respectively. Aang stopped for a moment, thinking, before stepping back with a nod. The guards took a step back in respectful tangent, and Aang smiled, though it didn't reach his wide, young eyes that stung from the rebuttal.

"Right," he muttered to himself somewhat sadly. "Protocol." He sighed at the word. With a glance at the man who was emotionlessly staring at Aang from his relaxed slump on the throne, Aang knelt down, one knee touching the ground and his opposite arm bracing him in a typical Earth Kingdom bow.

"King Bumi," he said slowly, keeping his tone neutral to not betray his feelings on having to be so formal. "An honor to meet you."

"Now Aang," the man said, a crazed smile twitching on his old and wrinkled face. "I believe we have met before."

A smirk tempted Aang's own lips, and the airbender was quite unsuccessful at keeping it from playing across his face, and he slipped back into the usual game of cat and mouse. "I don't believe we have, with all due respect, sir. I have met an orphan named Bumi, a street urchin and a fool and a wonderful friend, but I have never known a 'King' Bumi."

Bumi tilted his head consideringly, staring down at the bald boy before him, all traces of the smile suspiciously vanished. "I do believe you're right, I must have been mistaken," he drawled after a long moment. "After all, I used to know a young airbender named Aang - but I have never before been introduced to the Avatar himself, who supposedly died a hundred years ago." His tone was rock hard, his eyes unforgiving.

Aang looked up, and their eyes met. The boy swallowed at the anger and betrayal glinting in the man's eyes – the man who was so aged, so much older and taller and darker and far, far more powerful than the boy he used to know – but they held each other's gaze. Finally, they stood in synchronization and strode forward to catch each other in a tight embrace. The guards shifted to the side of the throne room, but said nothing. Katara and Sokka watched from the entrance, wary.

"My boy." Bumi was the first to pull away, patting Aang's bald head absently. "It has been a long time."

Aang blushed and looked down, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "It has, Bumi, and I'm sorry. I would have come if I could have."

Bumi smiled gently and sighed, turning back to his throne and settling down once more. He watched Aang for a long second, but finally just laughed. "I am sure you had your reasons, Aang. Just as I am sure you have a reason for coming to me now, after all these years." The question went unasked, but hovered heavily in the air between them. Aang stilled, but finally nodded heavily.

"Yes, unfortunately. I wish I could come and stay for no other reason than fun, like before, but…" he trailed off, considering his wording.

Sokka listened to the unspoken words and his heart clenched with pity. He cast a quick glance at Katara from the corner of his eye and was unsurprised to find her watching him. He cocked one eyebrow slightly, and she gave him a slight nod. That being all the confirmation he needed, he stood and walked up to Aang, giving him a light touch on his arm.

"King Bumi," he greeted with a respectful bow. "My name is Sokka, and my sister and I are from the Southern Water Tribe. We are here to help Aang."

Aang looked over at him, clearly taken aback but equally grateful for the interruption. Sokka gave him a quick smile before turning back to the King. He coughed quietly and summoned the picture of his father standing before his men in his mind, trying to look and sound like he had.  _You're the man of the Tribe now, Sokka,_  he told himself.  _Represent them well. This is just a little speech. You can do it._  He took a breath.

"Sir, if I may speak for Aang, we are trying to get to the Northern Water Tribe as fast as possible, with as little resistance as we can. We need to get him to a Waterbending Master who can teach him. And, um, the problem is that we… encountered the Fire Nation on our way, some Prince who wants to capture Aang. We need to get to the North Pole so we – that is, Aang – can get strong enough to face him – and, uh, the Fire Lord, to end the war – but-"

Katara neatly stepped in, having stood and joined her friends before Bumi. "We need allies we can count on until that time. The North Pole is a long ways away," she added dryly. Sokka sent her a thankful look behind Aang's back, to which she smirked.

The King watched them, 'hmm'ing under his breath. Finally, he motioned to the guards, who stepped forward on either side of the group, spears held loosely but at the ready. Sokka and Katara stiffened, wondering if this was some bizarre trap and if Aang had made a mistake. Aang merely looking at them in mild surprise. "Bumi?" he asked hesitantly.

The old man stood and approached him, a wild grin on his face. "So you're the Avatar now, eh, Aang?"

Aang nodded carefully, watching his old friend warily. "And you're the King," he replied. Bumi made a dismissive motion with his hand.

" _A_  King, Aang, and there is a very large difference there." He chortled oddly and tilted his head. He thought for a moment before asking loudly, "What would you say to a duel?"

Aang shook his head quickly, not meeting Bumi's eyes. "I don't like fighting," he muttered. "Especially not old friends."

Bumi regarded him with a feral look down his crooked nose. "Come now, boy, it's just a spar. You'll be doing far worse with your teachers, and I hate to think of what your reaction to the Fire Lord will be."

Aang backed up a step, only to feel the cold point of a spear in his back. He shook his head fervently. "I really don't want to fi-"

"Is the Avatar a coward?" Bumi snarled with a tone of sadistic pleasure. "Don't make me force my hand here, Aang. After all," he waved his hand again, and in the space of a moment, guards had Katara and Sokka in a rock prison, stone handcuffs pinning their hands behind their back, "I have far more leverage than you."

Aang opened his mouth to protest at the sight of his friends, but quickly shut it, anger flashing in his eyes. He straightened and faced Bumi, making the old man smirk with triumph. It was replaced quickly with an expression of shock as Aang rushed forward and jammed a finger into the King's chest, jabbing him with each word.

"I am not going to fight you. I don't have time to fight you. I do, however, have time to rally forces in your city." He paused and lowered his hand. "I'm sure many warriors would be more than happy to forgo the word of their King for that of the Avatar. If I ask them to wait my orders, I'm sure they would. If I ask them to sneak me out of the city from under your nose, I don't think they'd hesitate. If I told them to let my friends go, they would probably jump at the chance to gain my…" Aang paused, and waved his hand, searching for the right word, "good favor." He blushed at his own childish blunder, but the steely look quickly returned to his gray eyes. "You're my oldest friend, but if you wish to abuse your power as the King, then I have no choice but to abuse mine. Now let them go, forget the idea of sparring – I know you just want to see how good my airbending has gotten, not to mention show off your own earthbending (please, I know you) – and we can discuss our plans. Don't make me do anything I'll likely regret later just for their sake." He motioned to Katara and Sokka, who were watching him from inside their cage with slack jaws.

Bumi looked down at him with unblanketed astonishment. A moment later, he doubled over in loud guffaws, making Aang back up and wonder just  _how_  crazy his friend had gotten over the years. When the King finally straightened, he looked at his guards and wheezed out an order to let them go. The next second, the stone walls disappeared back into the floor of the throne room, and Katara and Sokka rushed to Aang's side. When Bumi finally recovered himself, he beamed disturbingly down at Aang.

"Aang, you really have changed. You've even grown a spine, look at that." He sniggered. "I suppose you also learned to open your mind to the possibilities – I would have expected you to do whatever I said to save them. You remind me a lot of how I… well." He stopped abruptly and coughed once. "Very well, we shall postone our mutual showing off for another time. Perhaps after you have mastered waterbending, you will return?"

Aang grinned and reached out a hand, laughing when Bumi extended his own and they gripped each other's forearms near the elbow. "I can't wait to learn earthbending from you, Bumi. You haven't changed a bit."

"Well, except for the old part," Bumi corrected with a mock frown. He pretended to pout. "Look at me Aang. I'm practically decomposing."

Aang pulled a good-humored disapproving face. "You're not that old," he insisted.

Bumi just let go of his arm and looked to the guards, his gaze turning commanding. "Show the kids to their room," he ordered with a magnanimous air. "And have a feast brought to them."

The captain of the guard bowed at the order, but hesitated. "Wait, Sire… the good room, or the bad room?"

Bumi's eyebrows furrowed in thought. "The newly refurbished one. It was the bad one before, wasn't it?"

"Well, the bad one is the old good one, since the old bad one is good now with the redecorations. You want them in the old bad one that is now good?"

"Yes, that will do."

"Very well, Sire."

And with that, and an odd look from Katara, the three were herded out of the room by a contingent of the guards. Bumi called after them, "I shall call you tomorrow, Aang, and we will discuss your plans. Sleep well in the meantime, and rest from your long journey. And by the way, Appa is being kept with Flopsy. He will be well looked-after until you can see him tomorrow."

"Thanks Bumi!" Aang called over his shoulder with a little wave. "See you in the morning!"

As the door to the throne room closed behind them, Katara caught Aang's gaze, her expression totally confused. "That guy  _definitely_  has his crown on too tight." She was rewarded with a gentle jab from one of the guards' spears, which she responded to with an indignant squawk.

"Not a word against the King," the man ordered gruffly through his dark beard. His eyes glazed over at some memory. "He's a mad genius."

"Do you know how he became King?" Aang asked curiously. "All I heard was that he won a contest Huang put forth as he was dying, and if I'm not wrong, when he stopped himself, he was going to say 'You remind me a lot of how I used to be.'"

"Probably," another guard spoke up. "And from what I know, that is how he became King. But that's not half the story – it was the way he won it that had everyone surprised." The rest of the guards laughed in agreement, making Aang frown.

"Why? What did he do?"

"The only stipulations of the test were to show that you were the strongest earthbender in the city," a third man interjected. "So in the middle of all these huge men throwing huge rocks and building things from the arena floor, this scrawny little orphan kid comes up and challenges them all to a spar at once."

"Of course the King was surprised," the first guard said, "but he agreed. The other men were all angry that he would give the kid even a chance against all of them at the same time and they all threw everything they had at the boy. He didn't fight back at all, just dodged or put up defenses against him. He hardly even raised a finger."

"After an hour of evasion, every other man was exhausted from hurling stones at the quick little fella that they called a coward for not fighting. In a single move, he caught them all in individual cages – which should have been impossible, but he was focused. Then he dragged all the cages together and – if the stories are to be believed anyway – stacked all one hundred of them in a perfect sculpture of King Huang. Then he made the bottom of the pens fall out, and all of the men collapsed on the floor of the arena. Just like that, the kid solidified the cages, and the statue, and then to top it all off, condensed it into sparkling green crystal." The third guard had a glassy look in his eye as he told the story, looking half-awed with hero-worship and half-jealous at the man's prowess. The second man picked up the tale.

"And then he turned to the King and said, 'Sire, I know I'm just a kid, and an orphan, but I really think you should open your mind to the possibilities.' And with a kick, the sculpture of the old king changed into one of Bumi, caught in crazed laughter. My mother said Huang had looked totally shocked before breaking into uncontrollable chuckles, and crowned the kid Prince on the spot, saying that Omashu could use a leader that knew how to be patient and creative at once."

Aang, who had been listening to the story with a bittersweet smile, just shook his head silently. "Yeah, that sounds like Bumi," he said quietly. Katara looked at him carefully, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Aang?" she questioned gently. Sokka watched them both, and their small party stopped right outside a stone door, the guards obviously caught between watching the Avatar's reaction curiously or looking away to give him privacy. Aang just looked up at her, then at the guards, with bright eyes. He shook his head again.

"It's nothing," he said quickly. "I just…" He laughed once and pushed into the refurbished-chamber-that-was-once-bad. "I missed the crazy old geezer."

* * *

"You're sure you don't want an escort to the North Pole, Aang?" Bumi asked, serious for once. "Trouble is going to find you on your way, you know; you can never be sure when having trained allies will help you."

Aang just shook his head. "A larger group would just attract more attention, and the fewer people we have on Appa the faster we can go. I promise I'll come back as soon as I've mastered waterbending."

Bumi raised an eyebrow at him. "And I don't have to tell you that can take years?"

Aang blushed a little and looked away. "I don't have that kind of time," he admitted. "I don't think I can wait that long, knowing the war is going on."

Bumi nodded, looking pensive. "You know, Aang, waiting is something we all have to do at some point in our life. Sometimes, it is less damaging then rushing into a situation unprepared. I feel it would be better to train with water as long as is necessary, and not worry too much about a deadline."

Aang hesitated, but finally nodded. "Still, I will be back as soon as I can," he argued weakly.

"And in the meantime, we will be here, gathering forces and waiting for your word," Bumi agreed. He stamped his foot, and a pedestal of rock raised him to the level of Aang sitting atop Appa's head. He smiled and snorted with a little insanity. "Take care, Aang."

Aang returned the grin. "And you, Bumi." He paused for a moment longer, but the King nodded, and Aang turned his gaze northward. "Thank you for the supplies," he said. "I will see you soon. Yip yip, Appa."

The rock under Bumi crumbled as Aang flew away, and the King watched his oldest friend disappear over the mountain pass that hid Omashu away. The Captain of his guard stood next to him, watching the Avatar go with an indiscriminate expression.

"Some kid," he commented offhand. "I think he's a little crazy… and I'm not sure if that's a good thing for an Avatar."

Bumi just looked after the bison's retreating form fondly. "My protégé," he cried softly. "I knew insanity was contagious!" He stalked away cackling, and the Captain of the Guard watched his movement warily.

"Contagious," he muttered, and his brown eyes grew wide as the word's meaning sank in. "Oh lord, noooo…."

He ran home wailing.


	18. Uncertain

"He's not here, Uncle."

The portly old man looked around him, taking in the scene of the small, quiet inn where they were staying. Following his lead, Zuko glanced at his candle-lit surroundings, shadows playing on the wood surfaces. On the ground floor where they were, a bar with a small kitchen was constantly watched by a stocky woman with graying hair and a pretty smile. Several people were eating stew that simmered and hissed in a pot behind them, talking over tankards of ale. Out of habit, Zuko judged them immediately, labeling them with as much information as he could.  _Pale skin, dark hair, brownish eyes… Earth Kingdom residents. Moderate build… nonbenders._  His eyes slid over to the only other inhabitants of the tavern on the edge of the city, a small group that sat near the fireplace on large cushions, telling stories and laughing easily.  _Darker skin, lighter hair… travelers. Probably from the desert._ His ears focused on their lilting accent, and he couldn't help a small smile at the confirmation. He noticed the swords unbuckled and laid on the ground in easy reach and a crossbow resting against the wall nearby.  _Warriors, not aristocrats._

Iroh watched him assess the other customers bemusedly."I gathered that for myself, Prince Zuko," the old man replied, lifting his cup of tea to hide his smile.

Zuko refocused on his Uncle with a scowl, small sense of satisfaction gone at his Uncle's tone. "I mean, he's not in this city," he hissed.

Iroh sipped his tea, apparently unsurprised. "You said he had come here, and I agreed it was the most logical choice. The Southern Temple was known to be on very good terms with Omashu, much more than with Ba Sing Se, and we have records that they made at least two trading trips here a year. It would come as no surprise to me if Aang knew someone here who might be able to supply him, or provide him with backup, or even to help him find an Earthbending teacher. In fact, the city is quite the stronghold. It's a logical place to hole in if you wish to hide-"

"Uncle."

Iroh lifted an eyebrow at Zuko's strained interruption, and the boy tried not to feel like he was being shamed for it as he would have been in court. "Yes?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Zuko looked at the tea on the table below him, absently noticing how the surface was free of the carved letters and signatures most tavern tables bore. He ran his finger along the abnormally smooth surface, trying to phrase his words in a way that didn't belie how confused he was. "I know I said that. I know you agreed. I know all the reasons I said that, and I was relatively certain he would be here." He looked up. "But for far fewer reasons, I am far more certain that he is not, now that I am."

Slowly, his Uncle lowered his tea mug, setting it down without the slightest sound. He was silent for a long moment. "That is most interesting, Prince Zuko," he eventually said.

Zuko watched him in silence, gold eyes narrowing. "You don't believe me," he said, more of a statement than a question.

"No, no, I believe you!" Iroh assured him quickly. When Zuko continued watching him, he sighed and rubbed his beard thoughtfully. "But where is he, if not here? We cannot afford to stop searching for long, or we will lose his trail."

Zuko ignored his first impulse to sigh in relief, reminding himself that Iroh had never doubted him before, even his first reckless urge to search the Southern Temple. Instead, he shook his head and raked his fingers along his scalp, pulling on his phoenix tail absently. "I don't know," he muttered. "I was so sure he was here…"

"There are other equally rational places he could have gone," Iroh reasoned. "It's not like we have to act like this was our last hope."

Zuko stared into space as though he didn't hear his uncle, gold eyes unfocused and clouded. Suddenly, he swallowed and shook his head, sitting up straighter. The dimly lit inn came back into focus, Iroh's concerned and curious face the center of his attention. "He's headed North. He must be seeking out the Northern Water Tribe."

Iroh thought for a moment before nodding. "It makes sense," he said slowly. "The Southern Tribe doesn't have any more benders-"

"But the girl travelling with him was a bender, Uncle," Zuko broke in. "And she bore such a resemblance to the boy I fought from that village, they had to be related."

"True, Prince Zuko, but she was obviously no master. And believe me, there should have been no benders at all." Iroh sat back, face drawn in a slight frown. "Wait here," he finally said, standing and moving towards the counter. He spoke quietly with the barista, Zuko watching his back warily as he laughed at something she said. A minute passed, and then two, and Zuko started tapping his long nails on the wood table impatiently. He was about to call out to his Uncle when the portly man turned around, a cup of steaming tea clasped in each hand and a wide beam on his face. He set Zuko's tea in front of him, and then his own, and with the same hand tucked something away in his voluminous sleeve. Zuko's eyes followed the movement.

"What was that?" he asked suspiciously.

"What was what, Prince Zuko?" Iroh replied charily. "Now listen." He leaned forward, head bent towards Zuko conspiratorially. "You're right, the Avatar was here. He was taken directly to the King, stayed at the palace one night, and left the next day with the same party he came with. No one left with them, and no one knows exactly what he discussed with Bumi. He did take off North, though who knows what turns he will make, or what his destination is."

Zuko didn't bother to ask how his Uncle had found that out from the barista. "It must be the Northern Water Tribe. He needs a master to teach him, and I bet the girl is looking for one too," Zuko whispered. He rubbed his forehead, mind whirling with ideas. "How many days ago?"

"Three, tomorrow morning."

Zuko sat back on his cushion with a glower. "That's too long. His bison makes far better time than we ever could hope to on foot, even if we could use the Rhinos," he muttered, just loud enough for Uncle to hear. "And those stupid animals make it impossible to go undercover for information on his whereabouts." He clenched his hands into fists to suppress his frustration.

"We need to get back to the ship," Iroh agreed. "If we know he's headed North, our only hope of catching him is to go straight to the Water Tribe, and hope has to stop enough on the way that we can beat him there." Iroh's gold eyes glinted in the low light of the room. "If you're sure that's where he's headed, that is."

"I'm sure," Zuko said, voice unwavering. He paused, and added, "I'm just not sure how." At Iroh's smug, devious look, he hurriedly added, "More importantly, the only way we could hope to get there before him is if we take the straightest possible route." He raised one eyebrow, giving Iroh a significant look. Iroh stared back, his smirk vanishing like smoke.

"Through Fire Nation waters," the older man sighed, and massaged his temples wearily.

"Exactly." Zuko set his jaw, trying not to snap out the words that filled him with such bitterness. "And as I'm  _banished,_ travelling through them could lead to…well, trouble, to say the least."

_But the truth is, Prince Zuko, your scar is the sum of everything your father thinks of you… absolutely nothing._

Zuko breathed in deeply to bury the taunting words in the back of his mind. "Of course, that's not going to stop me."

"No, Prince Zuko," Iroh said firmly, shaking his head fervently. "Trying to get past a Fire Nation blockade and through their water when the Marines have orders to take you prisoner should you try – alive or dead – would top the list of foolish things you've done." He paused to sip his tea, emotions slipping away once more. "Especially when there is such a simple solution."

Zuko cocked his head, considering Iroh's cool demeanor warily. Though suspicious to take the bait, he finally asked, "And that would be?" He regretted it immediately when Iroh beamed widely over his tea.

"All we need is an escort. Commander or above. And I know just the man for the job."

Zuko opened his mouth, closed it again. Stared in disbelief. Picked up his tea and downed it in one gulp, then stood up and planted his hands on the table to tower over his Uncle. "No," he growled. " _Absolutely not."_

Iroh smiled up at him, totally innocent.

* * *

"Listen. It's so quiet. There's no life anywhere."

Katara tilted her head and tuned into the sound of the dark beach around her. Just as Sokka said, the only noise was the ghostly whispering of the wind on the ash, puffing up tiny plumes of grey and skittering the coals across the ground. She watched Sokka kneel down near a set of footprints, and she recognized them as quickly as she knew he did. She would never forget the shape of those boots in the snow, and ash was so similar. She opened her mouth, but when she saw Aang's devastated expression, she bit her tongue hard to stop from saying what she wanted to say. "Aang, are you okay?" _Those Fire Nation bastards._

"Fire Nation bastards!" Sokka spat, and Katara was suddenly glad she hadn't said anything by the way Aang's face crumpled. "Those evil savages make me sick! They have no respect for-"

Aang rubbed his temples and breathed out quickly, and Katara finally hissed, "Shh!" Sokka whirled on her with an incredulous look.

"What? I'm not allowed to be angry now?" he growled. "Honestly, I'm surprised you didn't say it first!" Katara just huffed impatiently to get her irate brother's attention and nodded towards Aang.

The monk had sunk to the ground, his eyes downcast. He raked his fingers through the thick layer of ash and lifted his hands to stare at his cupped fingers. A few ashen flakes drifted off of his palms, his pained grey eyes reflecting their color. Katara felt her heart sink. Though she hardly had any right, she shot a disapproving glance at Sokka, who turned away with a guilty blush. The beach was silent.

"Aang?" she ventured tentatively.

He looked up at her, his eyes clouded and confused. His voice was a desolate whisper, resigned to never knowing the answer to the question he asked. "Why would anyone do this?"

A million answers scrolled through Katara's head.  _They have no sympathy for life. They care about nothing, they love nothing, and they are ungrateful, hateful, cruel and disgusting humans-_

The all came to a halt when Aang's broken voice added, "How could I let this happen?"

Katara saw Sokka's head snap up and turn to her from the corner of her eye. She stared back, and the two shared a long look. After a moment, Katara hurried to his side and knelt next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and squeezing him tight against her, just like her mother used to do to Sokka. She swallowed hard to bury that particular picture, though she told herself it was just to make her voice stronger. "Aang, you didn't let this happen. This has nothing to do with you."

"Yes, it does!" Aang protested, fixing her with what was probably supposed to be a fearsome glare. Katara thought for a second that he would shrug off her arm and storm away, like Sokka used to do, but instead he wilted in her arms and leaned against her, staring ahead at the painfully obvious scar in the earth. "It's the Avatar's job to protect nature," he said finally. "But… I don't know how to do my job."

Katara swallowed and looked to Sokka again for support. She didn't know how to deal with this. Sokka had always known he would be chief of the village, and he had always known exactly what that meant. Everyone else she had ever known had been the same – they had known from a child what their future would be, and they knew what would be expected of them. Katara was the precious last bender – she would find a man, settle down, have children, and pray they were benders. She would hunt and cook and prepare the hides for tents. She would make medicine and ceremonial artifacts. She would be a woman of the tribe.

_How does someone not know how to be themselves?_

But suddenly, she realized, being the 'precious last bender' meant more than just having bending children. She would have to teach them. And to teach them, she would have to know how to bend herself. And she  _didn't know._ Bending was who she was, and she didn't know how to do that.

Sokka must have recognized the look in her eye, because he nodded and raised an eyebrow at Aang.  _Bending is everything he is,_ he said.  _And he only knows air._

Katara squeezed Aang's shoulders. "That's why we're going to the North Pole, Aang to find you a waterbending teacher."  _And me too. I have to learn how to do my job._

"Yeah, a waterbending teacher," Aang scoffed. "But there's no one to teach me how to be the  _Avatar._ Monk Gyatso said that Avatar Roku would help me. But the only help I've gotten from him is information, and it had nothing to do with me." Aang picked up a handful of ash, looking like he might throw it, but just sighed and let it sift through his fingers.

Katara stiffened and adjusted her hold so Aang faced her, giving him a significant look he ducked to avoid. "Roku's been dead a hundred years, Aang. How did you talk to him?"

Aang's cheeks turned bright red, and he coughed awkwardly, refusing to meet her eyes. Katara gave him a quick shake in exasperation.

"Just tell her now, bud," Sokka advised wryly. "This will only go downhill, trust me."

With a glance at his fellow male, Aang tentatively met Katara's bright blue eyes, before his gaze darted to the ground again. Somewhat grudgingly, Katara had to congratulate herself and Sokka on distracting him so thoroughly. Finally Aang muttered, "It… it doesn't matter." At Katara's stormy expression and Sokka's half-silenced sadistic giggle, he quickly added, "Besides, I won't be able to do it again unless I can get to another Avatar temple-"

"You mean that's what you were doing? I looked everywhere for you, and couldn't find you, and then you just popped up out of nowhere!" Katara shoved the boy out of her arms with joking roughness, but he easily caught himself on a cushion of air and stood with unnatural grace.

"The room I was in apparently hides itself very well," he said slowly, and his mouth twitched at a hidden thought Katara wished she knew.

"What in Koh's lair are we talking about?" Sokka monotoned.

Aang shot a hesitant grin at Sokka, whereas Katara just stuck her tongue out at her brother. "While you were messing around with Zuko, we were searching for any survivors to help Aang defeat the Firelord," she teased.

"Well, Katara, I wouldn't say that that was the reason we were looking for them…"

"And I wasn't  _messing around_  with Zuko! I was fighting for my life! And all because you had run off with a stranger, who really  _could_  have been a spy, and weren't at the village when were attacked by the Fire Nation!"

Katara just rolled her eyes, undeterred. "Point being, we found some evidence that someone had been at the temple."

Sokka stared at her blankly. "Temple?"

"The Southern Air Temple, my home," Aang spoke up softly. "I would have liked you to see it, Sokka, but I thought it best to get to Omashu as quickly as possible."

"I understand," Sokka assured him quickly. "Supplies and back up is more important." He abruptly turned back to Katara. "What was this evidence you found?"

"Fingerprints," she answered quickly. "In the dust on a doorframe. And-" She cut herself off suddenly and paled, making both boys look at her sharply.

"And?" Aang questioned. "You didn't mention anything else to me."

"It's nothing," she mumbled, and wandered away.

Aang watched her go warily, but finally just nodded. "If you say so," he called after her, his tone totally trusting. He turned back to Sokka, who was shaking his head at his sister suspiciously and sighing. "It was there that I was granted a… vision, I guess," he continued. He shuffled uncomfortably and let out a breathy laugh at the word.

Sokka just cocked one eyebrow. "Is this more creepy spirit power stuff?"

Aang smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah?"

With an unabashed grin, Sokka shook his head. "Then keep it to yourself. Point being, Roku talked to you, told you useless things, and you don't know how to contact him again?"

"Well, it wasn't  _useless-"_

"No? Did he say anything about being the Avatar?"

"Not… directly…"

"What about women?"

An acorn smacked him in the side of the head shortly after. "Ow!" he cried, rubbing his temple. After moment though, he tossed his head back and laughed. "Yeah, probably deserved that."

"Ready to be cheered up, Aang?" Katara asked chirpily, from where she had stopped several meters away. He turned at the sound of her voice.

"Wha- Ouch! How was that supposed to cheer me up?" He scowled and massaged the red mark Katara had left on his cheek.

Katara smirked as Sokka giggled from behind the monk. "Cheered me up," he muttered.

"Catch!" she called, and threw another acorn at Aang's head. Without thinking, he trapped it in a spiraling ball of air just before it hit his nose and gave an incredulous look to the Watertribe girl, who was waltzing towards him with a wide beam. "These acorns are everywhere! That means the forest will grow back. Every one of these will be a tall oak tree someday, and all the birds and animals that lived here will come back." She ran the rest of the way to Aang, grabbing his hand, and putting a small handful of the nuts in it. She closed the fingers over them with a wink.

Aang looked from his hand to her eyes with a small smile. "Thanks, Katara," he mumbled.

"Hate to break it up, guys," Sokka drawled, "but we've got a visitor." He drew himself up to his whole height and took a few steps until he was in front of Aang and Katara, blocking them from view as they turned to see who he meant. "Who are you?" he called.

Katara shifted until she could peer around Sokka, seeing at last who he meant – an old man, bent over a cane. The man didn't look at him, instead watching Momo flying around one of Appa's horns as the bison grunted and flicked his head, his tail thumping on the ground and throwing up ash. "A sky bison," the old man muttered in awe. "Impossible."

"Hey!" Sokka barked indignantly. "I asked who you are!"

"I am Xinnian. When I saw your bison flying overhead, I couldn't help but come see for myself. My hope was too great. Is there any chance that you're travelling with the Avatar?"

Aang stepped to the side, a hand on Sokka's shoulder and young face unusually serious. "I'm the Avatar. Did you need something?"

"We can't stay long," Katara added hastily, stepping to Sokka's other side. "We are travelling on an urgent schedule."

The old man nodded, but looked at Aang with unbridled desperation. "I know you must be busy, Avatar, but my village desperately needs your help. Could you spare us your time?" He looked at all three of them pleadingly.

Aang was at the old man's side in an instant, an elbow around his free arm. "Of course," he agreed automatically. "I'll do whatever I can. Please, take me to your village."

As the old man started walking, Aang in tow, Sokka and Katara shared another silent look.  _What has he gotten himself into?_  Sokka's eyes asked.

Katara just shook her head and followed a few steps behind, Appa and Momo trailing after their friend.  _I have no idea._

"The Fire Nation has been here," Sokka muttered under his breath, hovering at Katara's side and speaking so only she could hear him. He glanced around him as if looking for them in their surroundings, his gaze unreadable. "This could be a trap."

"He's an old man, Sokka," she protested. "Surely he won't be able to capture Aang if even Zuko and a whole ship of Marines couldn't." Still, Katara looked at the pair ahead of them guardedly.

"That's not what I mean," Sokka whispered. "What if this 'dire need' is the Fire Nation? Everyone in the village can be perfect people, and if a unit of Whitefaces was holding someone hostage and the Avatar came to their island, wouldn't they send someone out to lure him in? I know if they had you, I wouldn't stop at anything to get you back." He looked her in the eye, his face shadows and implications.

Katara swallowed, and cast a glance over her shoulder. She pursed her lips, thinking, but finally just sighed. "I agree," she said. " _But,_ what if they really do need Aang's help? We can't just leave them. You heard Aang – he thinks it's personally his job to keep watch over the whole world. He'd never turn his back on a village. For all we know, he's just doing what he's supposed to. I mean, what do we know about the 'Avatar', except what we've heard from stories?"

Sokka thought silently for a long minute, watching Aang talk quietly with the old man several meters ahead of them. "Not much," he agreed eventually. "Except that a lot of people want him dead." He paused, and after a moment shrugged. "Just be ready."

Katara eyed the old man darkly. "Of course."


	19. Spirits

Zuko let his feet dangle over the edge of the ship, arms crossed over the lower taffrail in a familiar position. It was rare he allowed himself to sit this way, knowing it looked childish and vulnerable, but Izo was the only person awake to see him. Zuko didn't turn around, knowing the bright eyed helmsman would be silently guarding him from his position in the watch tower, yet not able to bring himself to care.

 _What happened between us?_ he wondered absently. He distantly remembered trying to sever any bond between himself and Izo to accomplish his goal, but the memory was fuzzy. Staring into the churning sea, illuminated in glowing ivory every few moments, his brain seemed to turn slowly. He knew that many of his crew hated him for his driving will and harsh temper, but at least most respected his ability to lead. Izo seemed to have little respect for Zuko, but rather an affection that the Prince could almost place…

Lu Ten's grinning face floated up from some memory.  _Ah, cousin, how adorably terrible you are at pretending to hate me…_

Zuko's gold eyes narrowed a centimeter. That bond had been broken long ago. Zuko could still remember crying for hours the day he found out Lu Ten had died, finding quiet refuge in the garden with Mother and the turtle ducks, cherry blossom leaves floating around him and the waves seeming to mirror his ragged breathing. The love his cousin had shown him had been one of the happiest things in his younger life, a bright light that had always pulled him through his darker days. The hour Lu Ten arrived home was one he had looked forward to for weeks at a time, and the sudden call back to duty was always met with dismay. Zuko could hardly recall the days after the letter had arrived in the capital following news of the failed siege, only the vague recollection of wandering around the palace in a teary haze. Father and Azula hadn't spoken to him, which Zuko now presumed was because they were disgusted by his show of weakness. He didn't care really; even looking back, he had loved Lu Ten like a brother as much as he loved Iroh as a father-

His feet froze. His expression remained neutral, but his breath caught in his throat.

Grinding, his mind gradually moved beyond the thought, burying it, forgetting its existence.

So that was it, then. To Izo, Zuko was practically family. A younger brother or cousin, perhaps. It was… impossible. No one cared for Zuko, save for his Uncle, Mai, and maybe his sister and father. No one truly cared for him, only his position. And even so, the world often failed to hide it's hatred for him. With his record, even the spirits detested his existence. Yet here was evidence that one of his crew members – who had no reason to like him, and every reason to loathe him – viewed him as a treasured, important person. His mind began to numb as though experiencing the shock of battle, and Zuko automatically switched into military mode. Suddenly, the whole situation seemed logical and emotionless.

It would explain the helmsman's unusually warm attitude towards him, his lack of discipline and respect. It might explain his seemingly privileged relationship with Iroh, though that would depend on whether or not Iroh knew of Izo's feelings.

Zuko snorted at his own brain. Of course Iroh knew – he would have seen it long before Zuko. Zuko knew his own shortcomings, and people skills were one of them. And what he lacked, his Uncle always seemed to have in spades.

In any case, it might even explain his willingness to forgive Zuko his outburst the night of the storm so long ago, which Zuko could still remember despite his hazy mindset. The sight of ancient skeletons strewn across pale brick, blood long since dried and bones bleached by the high mountain sun flashed in his mind eye, followed by the picture of an immaculate, simple room, empty but looking as if it could have been lived in yesterday. His Uncle leaning against huge double doors, eyes closed and brow wrinkled in pain or concentration, blood dripping from his hand and sliding down the grooves in the wood. The panic as he realized that the airbenders had died a bloody death, massacred by men whose bodies hadn't been respected, and spirits were always vengeful, always searching for those who had denied them peace, and his Uncle was the former  _Crown Prince_ of the _Fire Nation-_

It had been unjustified to snap at Izo that way, Zuko knew, but even he couldn't blame himself. Maybe the helmsman was one of the few people alive who understood that Zuko had been drawn to the point of exhaustion that day.

A small smile twitched on his face, which he felt but tried to ignore. He would keep insisting to himself that he didn't need an older brother, and he  _especially_  didn't need someone to replace Lu Ten.

Sighing, he settled closer against the cold metal of the railing, letting his feet kick back and forth. The logical side of his brain that had taken over coldly told him that this was irrational, and that it was foolish to continue believing something one already knew to be a lie.

Every time he had returned to the ship after a taxing day, Izo had been there with a warm smile and a sarcastic comment, as relaxing as the tea Iroh always clasped in his hand or the sound of Pai Sho tiles clicking as they were moved around the board. There was something about his easy grace, his natural pleasure, that made Zuko feel-

Here, the soldier in Zuko's mind shrank away, replaced by a younger boy, face unscarred and eyes bright as he laughed in his mother's arms. He felt  _at home_. Not home as he had come to know it – a long unseen dream littered with dark memories – but home as it _should_  have been, with warmth and comfort and joy. Home outside of the palace, with Uncle and Lu Ten and Mother, and the cold but welcoming man that had taught him swordplay whose name had been lost sometime after her disappearance. Home without Azula or Ozai.

 _Damn it._  Zuko closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shifting so his hands gripped his forearms and laying his forehead on them.  _You can't think like that,_ he told himself, scolding the child that had stepped forward.  _The Fire Nation will always be your home. Your family will always love you, all of them. You cannot turn your back on our goal after all this time._

 _You say that selfishly,_ his colder side sneered.  _You saw the bodies at the Air Temples. You know what horrors your people wrought. You know in your heart that it was wrong, don't you? Haven't you always? But you refuse to acknowledge it. To do so would be to banish yourself more completely than ever, and due to the blood running through your veins, you would have to spend the rest of your life repairing Sozin's mistakes. You are a coward unwilling to face that route when handing over a twelve year old boy to the man who scarred you is so much easier, and leads to a life of luxury and worship by your people._

Zuko was sitting very still now, eyes screwed closed. It was normal for him to argue with himself, and not rare for his soldier-like side to go against the boyish Prince of the Fire Nation with himself as the mediator. But it was unusual that the cynical one voiced what he didn't want to hear.  _Look at the bigger picture,_ he berated himself. _The world would have been so much better off under Fire Nation rule. The Earth Kingdom is shallow, Kings and merchants squabbling constantly and walls being built to shut out any outside culture. The Water Tribes are broken, one clinging to its racial superiority and refusing to help its younger sister – its own people! The Air Nomads did nothing but hide from the rest of the world, viewing us as stupid and savage compared to their apathetic wisdom. Even the Avatar, supposedly so honorable, so noble, broke a deal he had made with us, even when we had sacrificed so much more. We demanded one life for the lives of a whole village – and he still did not honor our agreement? But the Fire Nation, despite being so many islands, lives the most united of all, passionate and brave and adventurous, always following through on what promises we make, always loyal to our lords and commanders. Wouldn't the face of the world be so much prettier if Father or Grandfather had taken control?_

 _You're merely spouting school teachings,_ the soldier stated.  _You don't truly believe it._

The child prince started to panic.  _I do believe it,_ Zuko thought, as vehemently as possible.

 _Do we?_ his own mind countered.  _Do we really?_

Zuko stopped, heart skipping a beat. In a moment of sheer terror, he realized he didn't know. He pulled deep into his thoughts, searching, trying as hard as he could to find the truth. What did he believe? That the Fire Nation was wrong in their actions, or that they were creating paradise? That his family loved him, or that he was just the luckless idiot born to follow their footsteps?

A sharp pain stabbed through the base of his neck and he catapulted forward, brow hitting the taffrail with a dull thud and hands slamming against the deck to steady himself. His vision flooded with white. A tall shape stood before him, blurry and unrecognizable save for sharply pointed shoulders and a high ponytail. A flash of red caught his eye before his scar burned and he closed his eyes with a shout.

 _Young Prince,_ the air around him sighed, sounding affectionate and… pitying.  _You only hurt yourself thinking these thoughts. It does you no good to try and find your center when you have no guide to help you._

Zuko's mind was totally blank, unable to even think of any response.

_Worry not, little dragon. The time will come for you to understand. But when it does, you_ _**must** _ _be ready for it. You must keep your mind open. You must try to find peace and balance. I wish I could help you._

The image winked out as suddenly as it had come and Zuko opened his eyes again, finding himself laying against the cold metal deck, breath coming in quiet gasps and sweat on his temples. He laid quietly for several long seconds, hearing his heart in his ears and staring up at the cloudy sky, his mind empty. He heard the sound of Iroh's familiar gait hurrying across the deck, and knew that Izo must have woken him when he heard Zuko scream. He lifted a hand to scrub his stinging scar, and one last memory blossomed in his mind, a whisper of Iroh's voice.  _Listen, Prince Zuko. A person can commit evil acts without being evil. Each person has the capacity for good and evil within them, and it is the one that they choose to act on that defines them. Sometimes, a good person must act in an evil manner, but that does not mean they enjoy it. And sometimes, an evil person acts in a way that turns out to be good. The point is, my boy, that there is no black and white when speaking of good and evil, though people will try to paint it that way…_

"Prince Zuko! What happened? My nephew, are you alright?"

Iroh's voice was nearer now, worried tones weaving through the present-day air. Zuko let his hand fall limply back to the deck, blinking slowly as his mind struggled to kick up to speed.  _What in all the spirit hells was all that?_

* * *

Aang looked around him, grey eyes soaking in the rubble of burned and destroyed buildings. He followed the old man tamely, noticing Katara and Sokka stiffen as the pass through the village gate. He shot them a questioning look, but Sokka just nodded tersely, his gaze sweeping over the tops of buildings and through windows as if searching for something. "Are you looking for someone, Sokka?" he asked quietly. The old man turned back to look at them oddly, and Sokka's eyes just tightened. Aang didn't quite recognize the expression – it wasn't exactly angry or afraid, but a mix of the two.

"In a manner of speaking," the older boy finally said, his voice tense.

Aang was about to question further when the old man stopped in front of a large group of people, clustered around a centralized building and all of whom were staring at them. Aang tried not to notice the outright suspicion in their expression, or the wary way a middle aged man peeled from the crowd and approached them.

"Xinnian," he greeted, nodding respectfully to the elder. He looked over the three companions dryly. "Who are these guests you have brought to us? I fear that our village cannot extend its usual hospitality in this time of crisis, though I can offer you space in the shelter and a hot meal for the day."

Aang opened his mouth to protest when a load rumble echoed outside of the wall. Several people screamed and they all turned to rush inside the large building, mothers picking up children and men holding women comfortingly as tears already flooded down their face.

"Hei-Bai," the middle aged man breathed, eyes wide with terror.

"No," Aang said quickly, holding up his hands placatingly and stepping forward. He raised his voice to address the crowd, who flinched away from him. "It was Appa, my friend." All eyes swung to him, now looking fearful, and Aang flinched involuntarily. "A flying bison, not a spirit!"

"A flying bison!" One woman stepped forward from the crowd, anger etched on her face. "You must be a friend of the black and white spirit, trying to trick us and infiltrate our village. There are no such things." A small girl, eyes wide as though about to burst into tears, clutched her hand desperately.

"I saw it with my own eyes," Xinnian said softly, and the panicked mutterings and pattering of running feet stilled. "The boy tells the truth. He is the Avatar."

There was a heavy silence as everyone stared at him with unabated shock, making Aang blush and take a step back towards Katara and Sokka. The little girl started to cry. Finally, the woman picked her up and held her against her shoulder, glaring at Aang.

"Legend upon legend," she hissed. "I wouldn't trust you to save anyone." She turned and stalked inside the shelter, several others eyeing Aang dubiously before following.

The middle aged man seemed to recover himself, bowing slightly to Aang. "Excuse us, Avatar, we are all tired. It is the greatest honor of a lifetime to be in your presence. We had heard rumors of your return, but didn't dare to believe…" He stopped himself, coughing. "I am the chief of this village, what little that means. I would offer you lodging, but as I said before, our hospitality has been stretched thin-"

"There's no need for that," Aang said quickly, burying his pain at their words. "I am only here to help. Please, tell me everything that has happened."

Xinnian turned to him. "For the last few days at sunset a spirit monster comes and attacks our village. We only know him as Hei-Bai, the black and white spirit."

Sokka raised a hand to Aang, telling him to wait. "Why is it attacking you?"

The chief crossed his arms over his chest, looking to the sunset. "We do not know, but each of the last three nights he has abducted one of our own. We are especially fearful because the winter solstice draws near."

Sokka and Katara paled, and Aang looked around inquisitively. "What does-"

"the spirit do, exactly?" Sokka cut in abruptly. He turned his bright blue eyes to Aang, raising one eyebrow slightly in a promise to explain later.

"He comes in by the main gate, sometimes just appearing out of thin air just inside the wall. He crushes a few buildings, grabs the first person he sees, turns around, and disappears again. He is already causing devastation. Once the solstice arrives, there is no telling what he may do." Xinnian looked at Aang, face filled with hope. "Who better to resolve a crisis between our world and the spirit world than the Avatar himself, the great bridge between them?"

Aang couldn't tear his eyes away. "Yeah… Great bridge… that's me."

"So you will help us?" The chief didn't try to hide the desperation in his voice.

"Of course," Aang replied.

"Get your people inside," Sokka suggested, putting on his most magnanimous air. "The Avatar needs time and peace to prepare."

"Yes, whatever you say," the chief agreed, bowing. When he straightened, he started with a laugh. "I'm sorry, young man, I didn't catch your name."

"I am Sokka, and this is my sister Katara." He gestured to Katara, who was standing next to him, eyes still looking over the village with a twinge of horror. At her name, her eyes snapped back to the chief and she cast him a blinding smile.

"It is an honor to meet you, chief," she said sincerely.

"And you as well, dear lady," he replied warmly. He looked between the two siblings. "It may be rude of me to inquire, but where are you from, and why do you travel with the Avatar?"

Katara opened her mouth to answer when Sokka just chuckled lowly. "It is rude," he said quietly.

The chief bowed his head. "My apologies." Then, putting an arm around Xinnian's low shoulders, he turned and led the elder inside, closing the door behind them. Sokka turned away and stalked towards the village gate before Katara or Aang could say anything, and the two exchanged a baffled look before trotting after him. When they finally caught him, he was a little ways away from the wall to the east of the gate, scratching Appa behind the horns as the bison grunted happily. Katara grabbed Aang's hand and dragged him the rest of the way to her brother's side, releasing it when she reached him.

"Alright, explain," she demanded, crossing her arms.

"You seem a little lost, Aang," Sokka said, sounding worried and totally ignoring his sister. He grabbed the monk by the shoulders. "Are you sure you can do this? You don't have to, you know."

"I just…" Aang stopped, looking up into the colorful sky as he gathered his thoughts, all the betrayal and anger and fear since he had landed on this island – since he had broken out of the iceberg – flooding back to him in a giant deluge. Finally, when he looked back at Sokka, his eyes were glazed with tears. "It's just all so much bigger than I thought. And it's not like I know anything about the spirit world. Gyatso taught me the basics when I was younger, but monks never learned anything specific until they turned 16, and even when I found out I was the Avatar early the council told Gyatso to focus on airbending, and we never got around to the spirits." A single tear glistened down his cheek, and the alarm was clear on his face. "I've been trying so hard ever since I woke up to be mature and think about things, because Gyatso was always telling me that I rushed into stuff, and now I've gotten myself into this situation where people are relying on me I just have no  _clue_  what I'm supposed to do…!"

"Hey now! It'll be okay." Sokka gave the boy a light shake, smiling. "You've already done half the job."

Aang sniffled and wiped his nose. "I have?"

"Yep. From what I've seen, being Avatar means you have to give people hope. And look what you've done!" He squeezed Aang's shoulders. "Now, you just have to finish what you started. You say you need a teacher to tell you about the spirits." Sokka shook his head and mumbled, "Which  _has_  to be true if you didn't even know about the winter solstice. You should be happy I covered for you on that one, you  _should_  have known that…"

At Aang's odd look, Katara spoke up. "As a solstice approaches, our world and the spirit world grow closer and closer until the line between them is blurred completely." She tilted her head, looking concerned. "Surely the monks taught you that much?"

Aang shook his head dejectedly.

"That's all we can tell you, though," Sokka continued apologetically. "We don't know much else, except that spirits are not nice things. They have their own agenda and don't give a crap about us, except a select few. We were always told to avoid anything that looked like it might be a spirit, but not why." He shrugged. "The Southern Tribe didn't know very much about them. That's why you need to find this teacher of yours."

Aang scowled. "I already told you, Roku hasn't been able to tell me anything! I can only reach him if I meditate for hours beforehand, and even then he's just a voice in my head, sounding faint and tired!"

"But it's almost the solstice," Katara cut in. "I'm sure if there was ever a time you could truly speak to him, it would be then." She put a comforting hand on his arm. Aang shook it off angrily.

"Katara, how could you even suggest that! I can't leave the villagers to Hei-Bai's mercy for one night while I do nothing!"

"Do you really have a choice?"

Katara and Aang both started at Sokka's cold voice, turning to him in shock. His blue eyes were hard.

"I don't mean to be the reality check, Aang, but if there was one thing my father taught me before he left, it was that sacrifices  _always_  have to be made. You can't control that. Sometimes you can't even control what you sacrifice. But you can control why." He lifted his hands and drew them back, sensing the younger boy shaking and unsure if it was from grief or anger. "This village has already suffered a lot. You've given them hope that their suffering will end. If you tell them that you need one more night to gather information, and then you will save them, they will all understand." His face relaxed, making him look his too-young age and far too tired. "They've lived through a hundred years of war, buddy. One night won't break them."

"Did you even see the graves?" Aang hissed, head hanging as though he was unable to look Sokka in the eye. His hand clenched around his staff. "The chief told us that Hei-Bai had abducted one person every night. But people  _lived_ in those buildings he shattered! You were the one looking around, Sokka, surely you saw them lined up in the corner!" He lifted his face, tears now openly flowing and his normally passive grey eyes dark with fury.

"I saw them," Sokka whispered. A haunted look passed briefly over his expression, and he rubbed a hand over his eyes.

"And you would just  _ignore_ them?" Aang whimpered, betrayed. "How could you? Knowing that if we had been here sooner, we could have stopped it? Knowing we could have saved them?!"

Katara's grip on Aang's arm tightened, making him cry out, and she swung him to face her with brutal force. She seized his other arm and shook him, looking him in the eye and growling, "It  _wasn't your fault,_ Aang!"

He stared at her in mute shock, realizing she was crying too.

"It wasn't Sokka's fault, and it wasn't mine," she added in a whisper. "We… we can't do everything, Aang, we just  _can't…._ "

"Katara-" Aang blinked a few times, recovering from his astonishment enough to realize the situation. He looked away from her. "I know you can't. I wouldn't want you to. But-! But Katara, it's my job to try!"

"You don't know that, Aang." Sokka sounded calm for the first time since the discussion started, laying a hand against Appa's forehead and absently scratching his fingers through the thick fur. His face was concerned when he turned back to the monk. "And I don't think you should keep guessing what your job is. If anything, this whole fiasco has proven how unhealthy that is for all of us. Ask Roku, during the solstice."

"But…" Aang looked pleading, as if searching for some reasonable protest. "But that's still a night away. People will get hurt."

Sokka sighed, and smiled lightly. "We'll get everyone inside the main building, so Hei-Bai doesn't see anyone roaming around. I don't think a spirit would deliberately come after that many people, especially in shelter. Hopefully he'll just smash some things and be on his way. We'll have a chance to study him, and some time to talk to everyone and see if they know anything we don't. Then the next day, you work on finding Roku. Okay?"

Aang said nothing for a long minute, and Sokka let go of Appa to walk over to him. He reached out, gently prying Katara's fingers from the monk's robes, and enveloped him in a tight hug. "Okay?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Aang finally grumbled grudgingly, voice muffled by Sokka's thick clothes.

"Good. Now, let's go get that meal we were promised!" Aang pulled away, a weak smile spreading across his face. Sokka pushed him away affectionately. "Go on!"

Katara shifted closer to Sokka as Aang took off running towards the central building. "That was…"

"Yeah," Sokka said, sighing and starting after the younger boy. "Emotional babysitting was not what I signed up for. You better not get like this when you get older."

Katara had the decency to blush, but her expression quickly grew serious again. "Why didn't you tell the chief who we were?"

Sokka laughed sheepishly and looked away. "It just… seemed like the right thing at the time. I don't know, I just get the feeling we shouldn't tell too many people where we come from. It feels like protecting the village, somehow."

Katara just nodded, and the two walked silently for a few seconds. "I don't think this is a trap," she finally said, laughing a little.

"Definitely not," Sokka agreed. He yawned widely. "I guess that's something to be grateful for."

"I'm just grateful you're here," Katara said quietly, not looking his way. Sokka stumbled a little, but beamed when he recovered himself, slipping an arm around her shoulders and leaning his head against hers.

"Same here, sis."

* * *

"I am begging you for this favor, sir."

"Which I find incredibly amusing, believe me, and which I will be writing about in length later, in my memoirs and  _multiple_ letters… But I will not grant it to you."

"With all due, respect, sir..." The voice was strangled as though trying not to choke on the words, "why not?"

"Because I know that if I give you this thing, it will tarnish my name, and I will have to take time, effort, and money out of my own agenda to help you. On the other hand, if I deny it, you will either fail your mission and be erased from our nation's memory or foolishly attempt it without my help, and you will be caught and executed – either of which is an incredibly happy thought."

Zuko tried to worm some civil words out from between his teeth, which were clenched so tightly he was getting a headache. "Please, Zhao. It's the one thing I will ever ask of you. The one thing your Prince will ever request, I swear it."

"Don't you understand, you insolent little cretin?" Zhao swung back around to face him, bending over so his livid face was level with Zuko's where the Prince knelt before him. "I want  _nothing_  to do with you. You are worthless and bring nothing but shame on our country!"

Zuko had to bite his tongue hard to stop himself from mentioning their earlier Agni Kai as he looked into Zhao's brown-gold eyes. He couldn't afford it, Uncle had made that clear. He needed to play his cards correctly, or it could mean losing the Avatar entirely. He tasted blood in his mouth and swallowed hard, ducking his head to avoid Zhao's gaze and hoping the motion looked ashamed.

He knew he needed an escort through Fire Nation waters; he had to reach the North Pole as quickly as possible, and though it hurt, he was banished and couldn't afford to be caught. Emotionally, Zuko was still being dealt a vicious blow – of all the military higher-ups in the world he could have chosen for an escort, Zhao was last on the list of those he  _wanted_. Logically, it made sense. Zhao would be quick to take the offer, knowing Zuko would bend over backwards to capture Aang and he could just steal the Avatar afterwards, saving himself trouble. Not to mention, the Commander would be thinking of chances to humiliate Zuko along the way in return for the defeat he had been dealt in their Agni Kai. Logically, it had made sense for Iroh and he to ride full speed back from Omashu to their ship, and from there to Esa, Zuko being trained for this encounter all the way.

Yet the most troubling thing about it all was that, however much he loathed every smug, arrogant piece of the Commander, Zuko couldn't bring himself to put up more than token resistance at his Uncle's suggestion. If it had been by logic alone, Zuko would have understood his decision. But it was more due to the same tugging certainty he felt whenever he thought of Aang's location. He just  _knew_  that he had to be taken to the North Pole by Zhao. And that had Zuko more afraid than Ozai or even Azula had ever made him – it had the stench of spirits.

"Why are you still here?" Zhao suddenly spat, and Zuko realized the Commander had straightened and walked away. "I told you I do not accept."

"I swear on my mother's name," Zuko said quietly, hoping the bad taste in his mouth was only blood, "that if you will be my escort through Fire Nation waters, I will give you the means and opportunity to take the Northern Water Tribe."

A moment of heavy silence fell in the tent, and Zuko swore he could hear his heart hammering in his chest. He didn't dare look up, knowing his expression would belie his disgust at the deal.

"The means, I already have," Zhao finally said, his calm regained. "Why would I need you?"

"I have information on the tribe that you will need, recently gathered intel from my time in banishment that the Fire Nation knows nothing of and which you will need if you wish to have any hope of taking them." Zuko struggled to keep his voice level. Everything about this transaction seemed  _wrong._ He could just see Zhao's pointed boots pace back and forth in front of him from the edge of his vision.

"So then." Zhao's voice was barely above a whisper, and Zuko knew he was facing away from him. "I take you to the Northern Tribe, and you give me the necessary information to conquer them while you sneak in and capture the Avatar?"

"You will be held in much higher regard, sir," Zuko gritted out. "You would have faced the savages head on and blown them to bits, whereas I would have snuck in like a thief and stolen a prize, shamefully and without… without honor." He took a breath. "It is not the ideal situation, but one that I know I must face."

"It is not enough," Zhao stated, turning around. "Look at me." Zuko raised his eyes obediently, hoping his fury didn't show too much through his humble mask. "I reject your offer."

He forced out the words he had been told to use as a last resort. "My Uncle has told me that he will join your attack force as your serving General if you accept my proposition."

Zhao's eyes widened a fraction of an inch, and Zuko could hear the shuffle as the two soldiers stationed at the tent's doorway shifted in surprise. Several seconds passed before Zhao suddenly straightened, clasping his hands in front of him.

"I see he was truly desperate for this, then, as you would never come before me like this of your own accord. That being the case, he should have come to me himself, knowing I would be far more willing to deal with him than some ill-tempered teenage idiot."

Zuko held perfectly still, knowing Zhao was looking for any reason to deny him. When his searching gaze found none, he sighed dramatically.

"Very well, Zuko. I accept your deal. Tell your Uncle that I will send the correct correspondence to the capital tonight and be ready to move in two days time. And, off the record, you and your Uncle will both owe me a debt." Zuko stiffened despite himself, and Zhao's eyes lit up in dark glee. "Come now, boy. You and I both know that any number of waterbenders is still less valuable than the Avatar in your father's eyes." He turned crisply, so Zuko could only see his stiff back. "Get out of my presence."

Free of his obligation to play the pitiful sea rat, Zuko stood carefully. "Gladly,  _sir,_ " he said coolly. The two soldiers stepped aside as he turned, and he nodded to them as he swept his way from the tent. His thoughts churned as he strode towards his ship, picking apart the conversation in a worried attempt to see if he had said or done anything wrong. He couldn't be sure, but he felt he had executed his part well.

Though, it was particularly disturbing how quickly Zhao had agreed when his Uncle's service had been on the line. Zuko filed away that information for further investigation, feeling inexplicably wary of some fact he didn't know.

* * *

The sun set outside, and the world darkened.

"When does he usually come?" Sokka asked, his voice low.

"Any time now," the chief replied tightly, his eyes fixed in front of him. The lightless room was only illuminated by the thin moonlight filtering through the windows, casting long shadows on the faces of the villagers huddled against each other to preserve space. Sokka watched him carefully.

"I know that…" he struggled for mature-sounding words- "this must be hard to accept. But you must understand, coming into this situation with no previous information, even the Avatar needs to see his enemy before he can hope to stop it." Sokka hoped he sounded as wise as he thought he did. He needed to be seen as the advisor to the ancient and judicious Avatar, since that was what these people expected him to be.

The chief just nodded. "We understand. I am impressed he is willing to face such a creature on the night when it is most powerful." His gaze slid over to Aang, who was standing by the window with a grave expression. "He holds himself like a twelve year old boy, uncertain and fearful. It must be a good skill to you when travelling." He laughed wryly as he turned back to Sokka, whose mixed emotions were probably playing across his face and which the older man hopefully couldn't clearly make out. "Though, the two ton flying bison, airbending clothes, ancient staff, and arrow tattoos could be more cleverly hidden."

Sokka said nothing for a second, shocked at his own lack of foresight, before chuckling quietly and raking his fingers through his hair. "How does one hide a two ton flying bison?"

"As if I should know," the chief replied, smiling.

"He's here," Aang said suddenly, his boyish voice ringing clearly throughout the room. Sokka was almost surprised it didn't shake. He stood and made his way over to the window, stopping at Aang's side. He peered out the window, eager for a glimpse at a spirit.

His heart stopped in terror.

When he noticed it skipping back into place, he saw that he was on his knees, pressed against the wall. Aang extended a hand towards him without looking down, an offering to help him to his feet. "Are you alright, Sokka?" he asked, in the same calm voice. Sokka could only stare, unable to grasp the pale fingers, the palm with the blue tattoo wrapped around the wrist. A bead of sweat dripped down his face.

"Sokka?" Katara walked over to him, kneeling down beside him with worry spelled out on her face. "It's alright, Sokka, the spirit is outside."

"It's huge," he whispered. "And so… unnatural…"

"It's coming this way," Aang abruptly said, brushing past the siblings without a second thought with his hand around his glider.

"What are you doing?" Katara hissed. "We said we would watch it tonight! We can't just abandon our plans-"

"Right," Aang said, not facing her, "we should abandon these innocent people instead." He reached for the door. "It was only a guess that he wouldn't attack us, and that guess was wrong."

The gears in Sokka's mind turned into overdrive.

_He comes in by the main gate, sometimes just appearing out of thin air just inside the wall. He crushes a few buildings, grabs the first person he sees, turns around, and disappears again._

_It's almost the solstice. I'm sure if there was ever a time you could truly speak to him, it would be then._

_If there was one thing my_   _father taught me before he left, it was that sacrifices_ _ **always**_ _have to be made._

He had pushed Aang out of the way before thinking about it, because if his brain had thought about it he would have remembered the sheer horror he had felt merely looking at the great shimmering black and white beast. He tried to pull himself back, but it was too late. His too-human instincts forced him forward, out of the door, made him throw his arms wide and call out to Hei-Bai. He couldn't be sure exactly of his words, since his blood was rushing in his ears and so much adrenaline coursing through his veins that he barely noticed when he was lifted from the ground and held in a crushing grip.

The world flashed into empty white.

* * *

Aang pushed himself up from the floor of the room and snapped open his glider, about to jump into the air and take after the spirit, still barely visible outside the village walls, when his hand froze. He couldn't move a single muscle of his own will, yet his arms and legs shook.

 _What is this,_ he wondered.  _I am not afraid of the spirits._

Sokka's final cry echoed emptily in his ears.  _"Sorry, Aang, but you have to be here tomorrow!"_

"What… what about you, Sokka…?" Aang asked the air. "You need to be here tomorrow too…"

Katara's warm arms enveloping him and the sound of nervous sobs were the last thing he remembered.

* * *

Sokka opened his eyes, blinking back a flood of light. He sat up slowly, rubbing his face with the back of his hand and trying to recognize his surroundings. He was in what appeared to be a forest, but the colors were too bright. The sky was so blue it hurt him to stare at it. A bright pink tree stood a little ways off, utterly still, though something in his mind told him that it should have been swaying in the breeze. He licked his finger and held it up – as suspected, there was no wind.

"Where am I?" he asked himself. "I suppose, logically, this must be the spirit world…"

"What was it you said earlier, sweetheart? 'In a matter of speaking'?"

Sokka whirled at the familiar voice, faced with his mother's high-boned face framed by dark hair. "Mother?" he choked on the word, and suddenly had to wipe his eyes for an entirely different reason. He shook his head, laughing darkly. He smiled wolfishly and held out his arms, shooing away the image. "This is an illusion, some cruel trick. If you're a spirit, just go away and leave me alone, I won't be here long. Mother died of natural causes. There is no reason for her to be here." His grin was broken. "You spirits just… rub me the wrong way…"

"Of course I am dead, Sokka," Kya said, her voice soft. "But the spirit world is an infinitely vast place. All those who die come here, in some shape or form, but most pass on quickly. I've been waiting. I got the feeling, once I reached here, that you or Katara would someday come." Her gaze seemed to sparkle in the color-saturated atmosphere. "It's the funny thing about this place, my son. Time is nothing. Maybe I didn't get the feeling, maybe I had just known. Or maybe I had already spoken to you, long ago."

Sokka held up one hand, the other scrubbing away tears he desperately tried to stop. "This isn't real," he insisted, sobs racking his frame. "This  _can't be real!"_

"Stop it, sweetheart," Kya commanded gently. "Give your mother a hug."

He knew it was stupid, because for all he understood spirits could have access to his memory, and this was a particularly malevolent one who was tricking him and would suck out his soul or steal his youth or possess him or something as soon as he touched it – he stumbled forward anyway, into her outstretched arms.

"It's alright, my darling. I have missed you and your sister very much." She stroked the top of his head just like she used to, nuzzling her cheek against his forehead as he buried his face in her shoulder.

"I missed you too, mom," he managed, because if it was a spirit it was a damn convincing one, and it felt so, so familiar.

"I know. But you've been so brave and mature since I've been gone," Kya crooned. "And because of that…" she held him out at arms' length. "I need to show you something." Her expression was grave, though her eyes still twinkled with love and something like regret.

Sokka furiously slapped tears off his face. "Yeah, yeah, 'course," he muttered quickly. He tried to reassemble his features into something manly. "What is it?"

Frowning, Kya waved a hand in front of her, and the air blurred, solidifying into a moving image as though a scene from a play was unfolding in front of him. Sokka leaned forward to get a better look.

"But that's-" he suddenly gasped, recognizing the boy.

"Zuko," Kya agreed, her tone inscrutable. "Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation. And Commander Zhao, a ruthless man you have not yet met."

"Yet?" Sokka mumbled to himself, eyes still fixed on the scene. Zuko was…  _bowing_  to this Zhao, which went against every fact he knew about the arrogant Prince who had seemed so calm and collected and dangerous. Sokka could even see a muscle in his jaw jump, his hands fisted at his side. It was a strange sight. "What are they saying?" he finally demanded.

With another absent swipe of her hand, Sokka was suddenly barraged with Zuko's voice.

"I am begging you for this favor, sir."

"Which I find incredibly amusing, believe me, and which I will be writing about in length later, in my memoirs and multiple letters… But I will not grant it to you."

"With all due, respect, sir...why not?"

"Because I know that if I give you this thing, it will tarnish my name, and I will have to take time, effort, and money out of my own agenda to help you. On the other hand, if I deny it, you will either fail your mission and be erased from our nation's memory or foolishly attempt it without my help, and you will be caught and executed – either of which is an incredibly happy thought."

"Please, Zhao. It's the one thing I will ever ask of you. The one thing your Prince will ever request, I swear it."

"Don't you understand, you insolent little cretin? I want nothing to do with you. You are worthless and bring nothing but shame on our country!"

"Stop!" Sokka suddenly shouted, and quickly the image dissolved into thin air. He spun on his mother, eyes wild. "Why did you need to show me that? It was nothing but a vague riddle I don't understand!"

"You do understand it. You understood it before you could hear him say a word," Kya retorted tenderly. "It wasn't what he said, but how he said it, that you had to see."

"He was bowing to one of his own soldiers like the spineless Whiteface he is, begging for scraps at some smarter man's table!" Sokka turned away from his mother, fresh tears on his face. "What more do I need to know?"

"Much, much more, my son," Kya said, and when Sokka whirled once more, she was gone. He collapsed to his knees on the too-green grass, too confused to even call her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ANGST EVERYWHERE. Also, I love Sokka so much.
> 
> OOCness because slight AU. Yes. And because I want to delve a little deeper into psychology and humanity, because as I see it the story has grown in style and tone alongside Zuko, and I want it to continue to do so. 
> 
> Please review!


	20. The Winter Solstice

When Aang woke up, it was to a cold wooden floor and silence.

He airbent to his feet quickly, all traces of weariness evaporating instantly and hand gripping the staff at his side. He was in a nondescript room, the floor bare and the walls empty. He didn't remember being put there; casting his mind back, the last thing he knew is Sokka disappearing in a white flash and strong arms around him, holding him back as he moved to snap open his glider-

Aang shivered involuntarily and took a wary step towards the door, trying not to draw up the worst possible scenarios in his mind. Katara will be fine, and the village will be in relatively good condition. He slid it open slowly.

What greeted him was the sight of the village's wall, bare ground, and the row of graves. None of them looked fresh, but he couldn't be absolutely sure. Trying not to flinch, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

"Katara?" he called, softly just in case.

 _In case what? In case something happened while you were sleeping, like a hundred years of war and suffering or your best friend being captured or any other thing you could have stopped if you had just_ been there?

Aang's eyes narrowed and he tried not to cry.  _Shut up,_  he thought brokenly, ignoring how there was still no response. "Katara?" he tried again, trying not to think about the graves as he moved towards where he thought the central building was. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a door nearby slamming and footsteps running towards him. He whirled around, raising his staff, but was tackled before he could move to defend himself. The air was knocked out of him and he staggered backwards, but his pain disappeared when he recognized dark brown hair. His staff clattered out of his hand and his arms wound around the taller girl in a tight embrace.

"You're awake," she said, like it was the happiest event in the world, hugging him desperately.

"I know I am," he joked back, and he was suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia.  _Why does this keep happening?_  He ran a hand over her head just to assure himself that this was real.  _I end up out of business and they end up worrying._ But true to the past, he added, "What happened?"

Katara pulled away, but she didn't meet his gaze, face twitching as she stared at the ground. A muscle worked in her jaw as she visibly tried to answer. "Sokka-" was all she could manage. Aang frowned and swallowed hard, holding back his own tears.

"And I've just been sleeping?" he growled.

Katara nodded mutely, still avoiding his eyes.

Regaining his breath after the girl's exhilarating hug and trying not to feel guilty, wishing she would just  _look_  at him, Aang grabbed her arm and smiled gently. "I'm going to get him back, Katara," he said, and his voice was low with passion. "I promise."

Apparently Katara had seen the similarities too, because she just sniffled and mumbled, "I trust you." But she half-turned away, as though the words were only barely addressed to him.

Trying not to feel like a total loser, Aang squeezed her arm before releasing it, bending over to pick up his staff. "Stay here, and stay inside," he ordered her, as sternly as he could manage. "Tell the villagers the same." He turned and snapped open his glider, taking a few quick steps before launching into the air.

"Wha-Aang, where are you going?" Katara ran after him with one arm outstretched, face a picture of worry. Aang tried not to feel smug that she was concerned for him.

"Please, Katara! Just stay!" He was beyond earshot then, past the wall of the village, and she had stopped running to just stand and stare at him. Even though she couldn't hear, he answered, "I'm going to find Roku, and after that, I'm saving Sokka."

After a couple of minutes of flying in an expanding spiral – a trick he had picked up from Sokka one night, talking about how Katara had once gotten lost in a snow storm and he had been allowed to go with his father to search for her – Aang noticed an unusual landscape in a section of the burnt forest. He dropped down swiftly to land in front of it, heart quickening.

It was a large brown bear, sitting on its hind legs and encircled by other, smaller bears on all fours. The atmosphere seemed to crackle as Aang turned in a full circle, looking at each of them. He swallowed hard, noting his mouth was suddenly dry. He had heard something of totems from time to time, but he was more afraid of the energy than anything.

"Totems," he murmured to himself, if only to break the eerie, static silence. "What do those do again? Some kind of link or something…" He walked up to one of the smaller ones and reached out, but stopped just short of touching it. He blinked once, then smiled wryly. "Sokka would tell me to stop and think about this before I go about touching things," he mused. Shooting a glance at the largest statue, he walked back to the center of the circle. Leaning down and balancing on the balls of his feet, he picked up some of the ash, feeling the usual tinges of anger and regret and sadness well up.

"There's something to understand here," he hissed to himself, feeling the rough soot against his hand. His brain knew there was some clue he was missing, but skipped when he tried to think of what it was. He tried to calm down and rationalize it, but it was too against his nature. He needed to  _do_ something, to move around or play or laugh or work on something. Sighing in frustration, he let the ash drop from his hand and fell gracelessly to the ground, settling into a full lotus position as a cloud of dust poofed around him.

Meditation always helped him clear his head, he reasoned. Besides, if it was the Winter Solstice and that meant what Katara and Sokka said it did, maybe he would get more than some new thoughts out of it.

After several frustrating minutes, Aang found himself mentally cursing how hard it was to relax and breathe evenly when one's best friend was trapped in another world and the entire landscape was blanketed in quiet and utterly motionless. "I don't have time for this," he gritted out, his eyes still closed. He took several deep breaths, but it still  _wasn't working._  "Roku, if you have any way around this, I'd  _love_  to hear it."

And if that didn't sound like his usual self, and Aang felt a bit guilty for not being the master airbender he supposedly was and being unable to calm his spirit, he blamed it on the fact that he had never dealt with spirits before.

Unsurprisingly, nothing happened.

Aang stood up and starting pacing around the circle, an arm's length within the odd arc of carved stone bears. He left his staff lying in the center so he was free to wring his hands anxiously. His breath was coming quickly, and he felt his heart pounding. He couldn't think in a straight line, mind hopping back and forth in panicked fragments.

He closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, counting his steps and feeling the utter silence around him. The air still hummed with a quiet force, and he tried to consider it comforting instead of unnerving. He forced himself to think about this like Sokka would.

"First, he would find out the problem itself," Aang reasoned. He kept walking, not noticing how his feet were compacting a circular path. "The source obviously being Hei-Bai."

 _Is it? Or is the source your lack of knowledge about the spirit world?_ a darker side of Aang asked.

Aang slowed, his foot hesitating for a moment, but he finally forced himself on. "And maybe how little I know," he admitted aloud a second later.

His mean side seemed to have a point this time, anyway.

He looked back on Sokka's problem solving approach. He had found out what the issue was, and then…

_Why is it attacking you?_

"The source," Aang murmured. "He tried to find the  _source_  of it." He stopped suddenly, glaring at nothing and thinking hard. "But what is it? Why  _would_  the spirit be attacking these innocent people?"

His hand screamed in protest, and belatedly the monk realized he had been squeezing it with far too much force. He released it quickly, shaking it out and hoping he would be able to lift his glider easily when night fell.

Then his eyes came into focus, and he saw the ash coating his palm. Slowly, his gaze lifted to the statue of the bear before him, and then around him, to the scorched trees and barren landscape.

"Oh," he said, feeling very small.

Before he could think anything else, a gust of wind buffeted against his face, whipping ash against his boots. Coiled with tension, he dove for his glider without thinking and looked for the source after. Something far above him was flying straight down, right at him. Instantly he ran for the treeline, but it was too far away to reach before whatever-it-was got to him. His glider was warm in his hand, but he didn't dare take to the air when he was being targeted from the sky. He vaulted over the line of bears and ran-

The rush of air stopped.

Wary, Aang stopped running and turned around. He looked up, but there was nothing in the skies. His eyes fell back to the bears.

 _You're crazy,_  his cynical side thought, but Aang stepped back towards them anyway. He reached them in a matter of seconds, his mouth dry as he stared at what appeared to be empty space and fired earth. Dust motes caught the sun as they floated in empty space, and the large black bear looked silently on, full of secrets.

Aang gritted his teeth so tightly his jaw hurt and his hand clenched around his glider.  _I'm_ not _afraid of spirits_ , he thought viciously, and stepped over the totem.

Hot breath gushed on his face, making Aang blink and lean back, barely registering that he was face to face with a  _dragon_. His heart hammering in his chest, Aang swallowed hard and tried not to backpedal as fast as he could away from the gigantic beast. "I don't suppose," he croaked weakly, "that you are some sort of well-meaning spirit that's going to tell me exactly how to solve this problem?"

A large tendril whipped towards him, and Aang winced, ducking into a roll.  _Yeah, a little too much to hope for-_

It touched the back of his head with surprising gentleness, warmth blossoming from its tip and flowing into his mind, making Aang limp with the sheer peace that enveloped him. The image of Roku floated up from the depths of his memory, riding on a large winged creature-

"You're his spirit animal," Aang mumbled to himself. He couldn't help a sardonic chuckle. "How convenient-"

The sharp picture of a crescent-shaped island cut off his thought process, expanding until he was standing in a room of the temple on its highest point, a statue of Roku standing before him. The light filtering in had the golden-red hue of sunset. Aang suddenly understood what his past life was trying to say.

"Take me?" Aang whispered, since it seemed like the only thing to say.

The dragon lowered its head obligingly.

* * *

"I will have correspondence with the blockade, of course, detailing your nephew's  _desperate_  plea for my help, and how I was powerless to refuse in the face of such pitiful, childish begging for a boon so small…"

Iroh smiled benevolently. "We do appreciate your willingness to cooperate, Zhao. Your understanding is most befitting of one of your rank."  _He wishes to rankle Zuko and I into some dishonorable action._ He hid a satisfied grin.  _I will not be so easily provoked._

Zhao hesitated, a little put-off at Iroh's quick acquiescence. He recovered himself quickly. "Anything I can do for the Dragon of the West, when he expresses a desire to come out of retirement. The most honored General is welcome aboard my crew at any time."

"Thank you," Iroh said, nodding respectfully.  _He wants some recognition of my military prowess? His own then, vicariously._  "We shall surprise the Northern Tribe with the force of our attack, when the two of us combine strategies."

"We would most certainly make a devastating team," Zhao agreed, a dangerous glint in his dirty-gold eyes. He slid his gaze over to consider Iroh, standing at his side with arms crossed peacefully in his sleeves. "My earlier offer to you still stands," he added, voice carefully even.

"I-" A flash overhead caught his eyes, and Iroh followed it with a squint. He was unable to suppress his gasp of surprise.

"General?" Zhao prompted, not quite keeping the greed from his voice. "Have you reconsidered?"

Iroh shook off the vision, filing it away for further examination. "I am still considering it," Iroh evaded. "Please excuse me."

He strode towards Zuko's room as quickly as possible, leaving a flustered Zhao behind him.

* * *

"Wait, Uncle. I don't understand the spirit world like you." Zuko sat on the edge of his bed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a familiar gesture of strained patience. "Why would the Avatar have access to Roku's dead dragon? And why couldn't he be seen by the others?"

Iroh sat in the middle of the Prince's small quarters, legs crossed and wrists resting on his knees. "I saw him because I have been to the spirit world," Iroh said simply. "And Aang would be able to see Fang for the same reason. The only way he would be able to ride him, though, is if the Avatar was also in the spirit world." Iroh grimaced. "For what reason, I wish I knew."

"Then his body is left defenseless?" Zuko asked, forgetting all mysteries and unanswered questions about the spirit world in his eagerness.

"Somewhere we don't know," Iroh agreed, trying not to put an edge of warning in his voice. "The original plan is still the best; we shouldn't ruin it on some wild goose chase."

"But if you can see Fang, we could track Aang back to his body when they return!" Zuko stood up and started pacing. "It would be a simple matter. They would lead us right to them."

Iroh shook his head. "No, Prince Zuko. A dragon, and one not bound to the physical world at that, would move far faster than anything we could follow them with. It is not possible."

Zuko kept pacing for several silent moments. "Alright. Assume we continue to the North Pole. We'll have to pass through the blockade-"

"For which Zhao is currently making arrangements," Iroh said, leaving out the more irritating details.

"-and presumably to wherever Aang is going. Is there any chance we might meet him on our travels?"

Iroh tried not to wince at the bitter hope in the boy's voice, casting his eyes down to the cold metal floor. "I think I know where Fang is taking him," he said carefully. "And I think I know why. But we would not be able to capture his spirit, and by the time we reached it he would be long gone anyway."

Zuko stopped, facing the wall. The room was bare even of the few possessions the Prince had owned on the  _Asahi_ , bereft of any warmth or color. Zuko stared at the empty wall with his stiff back to his Uncle, obviously considering back-up plans and reserved maneuvers. Eventually he breathed out a quiet sigh that Iroh hardly heard, running one hand over his face. He turned and made his way back to the simple cot, sitting on the edge once more with his hands in his lap. "Very well," he said softly, rubbing his palms absently. "We shall stick to the original plan then. Obviously there is no hope for catching him preemptively, without the help of our  _dear_ friend Zhao." Iroh didn't flinch at the biting tone. "What business do you suppose the Avatar has in the Fire Nation?"

"Do you know what day it is, my nephew?"

Zuko lifted his head, eyes sardonically light. "I lose track of the days," he said dismissively. "But I assume it's important?"

Iroh's lips twitched in a smirk. "Don't tell me a sailor can't deduce the time of year from the stars, or a Prince can so easily forget his school teachings. Where was the sun yesterday, the moon last night?"

Zuko groaned and fell back on the cot, covering his head with arms. Iroh had to stifle a giggle at the childish gesture, feeling fondness swell in his heart. "'School teachings': irrelevant book work only meant to show the genius of certain children."

"Hardly," Iroh sniffed, still smiling. "If you had applied yourself you would have been as successful as Azula."

"Hardly!" Zuko sat up and sneered mockingly. "Azula had a perfect memory. I'm lucky to remember what I've eaten for breakfast." He flopped back again with a grunt.

 _Maybe because you ran off instead of eating with your father and sister, and if you ate, it was scrounged form the kitchen._ Iroh didn't voice his thoughts.  _You acted more like a beggar than a Prince. Was that a calculated move on my brother's part?_

"The Winter Solstice," Zuko whispered.

Iroh blinked. "Yes… good job." He didn't dare ask what the inspiration had been; not after last night. "Do you remember what that means?"

"The spirit world and the real world will be in near-convergence. The spirit portal will strain against the bounds holding it. Powerful spirits may be able to force their way through… the Avatar must be sentient, or the spirit of Raava will be unable to hold them back." Zuko sat up slowly, his eyes shining with a faint white light. "Spirits possessing fore-established ties to the physical world have the ability to manifest themselves in full power, insubstantial yet influential-"

He fell forward, face careening into the metal floor.

"Zuko!" Iroh was on his feet in a flurry of motion and crouching at his side. He rolled him onto his back carefully, gathering his head into his lap. He could barely breathe for his own apprehension. "Zuko?"

"Ehhh…" The Prince's expression twitched in pain before his eyes opened. "Where…?"

Iroh's eyes narrowed.  _Just like last night. Why does this keep happening? What does it mean?_ "You are on Zhao's ship, Prince Zuko, remember? We were discussing the Winter Solstic-"

Iroh cut himself off, revelation flooding through him.

Zuko reached up, one hand cupping his Uncle's face. His expression was open and puzzled, so innocent save the angry scar. "Uncle? What's wrong?"

Iroh placed his hand over his nephew's and gripped it tightly, trying not to cry at the sight of the ill child. He gathered him in his arms, surprised at Zuko's lack of protest, and laid him gently on the cot. He smiled wanly at the boy's worried expression. "Nothing, my dear nephew. Stay here. I'll return with tea. And after that… I think it may be best to stop at a certain island tonight. I will tell you more later."

Iroh strode out of the room with a million jagged thoughts running through his mind.  _I need to meditate on this… and drink tea. Perhaps a game of Pai Sho will help clear my spirit of this mess._  He massaged his temple wearily.  _Agni, what a cluttered mess it is…._

"Uncle?" Zuko's tired voice called after him. Iroh stopped and turned slowly.

"Yes, Prince Zuko?"

Zuko stared at him, his head turned from where he lay on the cot, face unreadable. "What's wrong with me?" His voice was low, even, plaintive.

Iroh swallowed hard, staring back in consideration for a long minute. Finally, he ducked his head. "Nothing. Absolutely  _nothing_  is wrong with you," he spat, passionate despite himself. He forced himself to look the Prince in the eye again. "But I swear, nephew, I swear I will find out what's troubling you. I will help you any way I can."  _With your quest… your job… your identity… Zuko, I will be here for you._

* * *

The sun moved swiftly as Aang sat cross-legged on the temple floor, Fang curled around him. "You're sure this will work?" he asked, not opening his eyes. The whisker on his shoulder tightened, and Aang felt a vague wave of reassurance. He snorted. "If you say so."

The sun hit the statue of Roku, its eyes flashing a brilliant white that Aang could register even through his eyelids. He opened his eyes as soon as it faded, but he couldn't see anything through the thick white fog that had suddenly filled the room from floor to ceiling. He stood up warily, swishing at the mist before his face. "Roku?"

The fog suddenly lifted, and the tall figure stood before him, a smile on his severe face. "Aang. It is good to see you well."

Aang bowed deeply, looking around him when he straightened. Water was beneath his feet, an empty gray sky around him. "Are we in the spirit world?"

Roku nodded. "You have been travelling between worlds ever since you climbed aboard Fang's back." Aang looked to his shoulder, where Fang hovered next to him. "You crossed over completely a moment ago."

"Good." His face was solemn. "I need to find my friend and defeat the spirit that has taken him. I need to know more about the spirit world, and my job as the Avatar. And as long as we're talking face to face, I would love an explanation on who this 'Iroh' is, and what your connection is with Zuko."

Roku blinked once in surprise, then burst out in loud laughter. It sounded out of place, muted by the fog in the eerily silent landscape. "You have learned much from your waterbending friends," Roku finally said, sounding pleased. "I see some of your airbending nature has already diminished." His smile faded at Aang's displeased look. "That's good. If you are willing to take such forward action, you may succeed at the incredible task laid before you."

"Roku." Aang bowed again for good measure, then took several steps forward until he stood directly before the firebender. "I need your help, and I need to hurry. I don't mean to sound so direct, but please, help me understand."

"Young Aang." Roku placed a hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate your purpose. It gives me hope. But I'm afraid I can't tell you much. Our time here is limited, and the great deal that Iroh has already told you was everything he thought would help you, and that you were ready to hear. In your heart you already know that the spirit must not be defeated, but helped; when you do so, you will regain your friend. It is not my place to intervene and tell you everything you need to know. You would not grow as the Avatar is I were to hold your hand through every trial."

Aang hung his head. "Roku, I understand that, but the fate of the  _world_  is on my shoulders, and I'm just a kid. I don't think I can do this without help."

"And in that, my boy, you are very wise." Aang looked up at the stern tone, surprised, but Roku only fixed him with a firm gaze. "But you are not alone. You have your friends – and others besides you have not yet met." Aang opened his mouth, and Roku interrupted, "I can tell you this, however: you are the balance between the worlds, the focal point of the delicate scale of light and darkness. Your duty is to maintain peace and order against all costs. To do this, you must understand both the spirits and the four nations. How to gain that knowledge is up to you, but I suggest you find teachers quickly."

"And the Order of the White Lotus?" Aang questioned. "Can they help?"

Roku looked down on him darkly. "I don't know of the 'order' of which you speak," he said slowly, "but I would be wary of anything that operates on a worldwide basis. Such spies are rarely to be trusted."

Aang wanted to protest, but he swallowed the urge and nodded. It was wisdom he should probably heed, anyway.  _Don't trust anything_ , he told himself bitterly.  _That's all adults ever seem to say to me… even Sokka. I wonder if they have a point._

"Aang." Roku squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. "I can't spend much more time with you. The Winter Solstice doesn't last long. In answer to your last question, my connection with Iroh and Zuko is one of blood… and of spirit. I don't have time to explain precisely how our spirits are tied – a story for another time. You already know that he is not to be harmed."

"That's difficult, when the feeling is not mutual," Aang gritted out. "He nearly killed Sokka!"

Roku's expression was pained. "He knows not what he does, Aang," he said. "You of all people should consider redemption before punishment." He fixed his gold eyes on Aang's gray ones, emotions surging through them, before looking away. "However," he said deliberately, "if he should ever try to kill you, I encourage you to fight back. There is only so much the Avatar can forgive, even for Princes." He seemed to choke on the words.

Puzzled, Aang nodded. "Of course I won't kill him," he said. "You have my word."

"Thank you," Roku said gravely, looking at him again. "And I will do everything in my power to assure you don't have to break that promise." He looked up, apparently into the fog, though he seemed to gain some understanding in the motion. "You will leave soon," he said briskly. "I will be unable to speak with you again until the next convergence."

"You haven't told me much of anything," Aang said, knowing it was rude and not quite caring.

"I am a spirit, Aang." He held his arms open with a wry smile. "Ambiguity is in my nature. You were the one to seek me out, and I have given you the information you asked for, as much as I can give to you. The rest is, as they say, silence." The smile faded. "I should warn you that the world knows of your return, however you have tried to hide it. Do not seek out trouble until you are prepared for it. Be mindful of where you take rest, for rest will not come easily."

"Wait, Roku! How do they know?" The fog lifted, and Aang was left alone in the room, low light filtering through the window high above. He turned around, met with Fang's broad face. They stared at each other for several long seconds.

"Helpful," Aang muttered sarcastically. Fang tossed his head, and Aang sighed as he climbed on the dragon's neck. "Let's go buddy. We have to get back to the village before sunset, and I don't think we have much time." The dragon snorted and took off once more, faster than the wind.

* * *

"Quaint," Zhao said, looking around him. "I haven't been to one of the ancient temples since I was a child."

Iroh held his tongue from saying the multitude of scathing replies at its tip, instead inclining his head respectfully. "It will do us well to pray to Agni before this undertaking, and a more comfortable board than the ship." He looked up, grateful at the appearance of five figures at the Temple's door. "Look, the Sages await our arrival. They will surely lead you to your quarter and make you comfortable, Commander. I will tell the men to stay aboard for the night, unless they wish to offer service to the Lord."

He bowed shallowly as Zhao nodded and moved off, feeling endlessly relieved to be out of his presence.  _I have not the tolerance for your blithe arrogance tonight, Zhao._  He turned back to the ships, regarding them curiously. "Captain!"

His deep voice carried over the waves, reaching Jee, who stood a little ways off with several other men, conferring about the landing. With a wave to the others, the captain made his way to the edge of the deck, leaning over with a low bow to Iroh. "Sir?"

"Tell the men that they are to stay aboard, unless they wish to pray. And please, send Zuko out to meet me. Tell him I wish to continue our earlier conversation in the temple."

Jee saluted crisply. "Yessir. Just a moment."

Iroh crossed his arms, drumming his fingers against his biceps. He was not in a patient mood. He looked at the position of the sun; the solstice would be any second. He would not have Zuko before Roku's statue before then… but perhaps it wouldn't matter. The sooner the better. He turned and eyed the Fire Sages, one of whom walked away with Zhao stalking after him like a peacock. The other four looked at each other, then down to Iroh, who lifted his head higher.

 _Let's see if they recognize me,_  he thought darkly, thumbing the Lotus Tile in his sleeve.  _A little remembrance should do them good._

* * *

Aang stood up quickly, and his legs wobbled and collapsed. He picked himself up, looking to the empty, darkening sky. "Thanks for the ride, Fang," he said to nothing, and picked up his staff. "I'm back just in time."

He snapped open his glider and flew towards the village as fast as he could, the wind biting against his face. Looking down, he saw Hei Bai crashing through the trees beneath him, and he pushed faster, trying to gain a lead. The village wall became visible below. Aang soared over them without hesitation and dropped like a stone, ducking into a somersault to lighten his landing as he heard the village gates crash open behind him. He heard a vague scream as he jumped to his feet and turned around, the spirit tumbling towards him. Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and waited. Hei Bai came rushing at him ever faster, mouth opening and spirit energy growing in his throat. Aang waited, heart thudding against his ribcage. Hei Bai was nearly upon him. He heard running feet behind him, words he couldn't make out. He leaped.

Hei Bai's forehead was under his feet, and Aang touched his forehead, closing his eyes in concentration.

The spirit halted its charge with inhuman suddenness, causing Aang to lose his perch and fall, flipping in midair to land on his knees before the monster.

"The forest was your home," he spoke. "You are its guardian." He looked up, full into Hei Bai's face. "What secrets it must hold… it was ancient indeed. Maybe it was home to more of your kind, once…" He trailed off, realizing what he was saying and wondering how he knew. "I understand why you are angry. Your home was burnt down and destroyed by cruel humans. But this is not the first time. You have regrown this forest many times, and your patient spirit will encourage the rebirth once more. Look." He shuffled in his robes for the acorns Katara had given him, swallowing hard as he felt the spirit stand stock still, staring at him, mouth still open as if waiting for judgment. He held the nuts out on his palm. "Acorns," he explained. "The forest will grow back. It hasn't yet, because your vengeful spirit has discouraged the new growth. You must return to mothering the new trees, and they will come."

Hei Bai reached out slowly, picking up the acorns with two gigantic fingers and staring at them intensely. It looked up at Aang, and suddenly transformed into a panda, black eyes staring down into his soul. Aang reached out bravely, placing a hand on the soft fur of its cheek and closing his eyes.

 _Thank you, young human._  Her voice was soft and deep, only faintly feminine and full of unspoken power.  _You have given me hope._

Aang opened his eyes with a soft smile, and the beast turned around and walked calmly away, new growth sprouting up in its every step. People came stumbling out of the greens, eyes wide with shock and happiness as family rushed out to greet them. Sokka emerged last, rubbing his eyes wearily and faltering on his feet. Aang airbent underneath him just as he tripped over a stone, a soft mattress of warm air catching him before he hit the ground. The monk ran up to him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Sokka," he breathed, relief plain in his voice. "How do you feel? Are you hurt at all?"

"Not hurt," Sokka grunted, "but confused as hell."

Aang's brow crinkled. "Why?"

"Oh, you know. I meet my death mother in the spirit world, or something pretending to be her, and get a vision of Zuko begging to some crazy Fire Nation soldier to help him get to the North Pole." Sokka wiped sweat from his brow. "Then I get chased around the spirit world by these crazy bee things because they looked like a fruit and I tried to eat them…"

Aang laughed despite himself. "You tried to  _eat_  something in the  _Spirit World?_  Why?!"

Sokka smiled sheepishly. "It looked good?"

Katara suddenly was there, enveloping them both in a bone-crushing hug. "I was so worried about you," she breathed through her tears. "Sokka taken by a spirit, then Aang disappearing for a whole day… you're the only family I have left." She leaned back to look at them both, blue eyes sparkling with love and pain. "Promise me you won't leave me like that again."

"I promise, sis," Sokka said comfortingly, pulling her in for another hug. "I missed you too."

Aang watched, feeling a pang of jealousy. "Yeah. I won't either."

"Good," Katara mumbled, but she burrowed deeper into Sokka's arms, who hugged her like she was his last lifeline. Aang smiled sadly and remembered how hesitant she had been when he woke up. So he still wasn't forgiven?

"I'm going to check on Appa," he said. "Sokka, I'm glad your back." He laughed and rubbed the back of his head. "You were right. It seems my job is to give people – and spirits – hope."

Sokka looked at him over Katara's head, smiling. "I'm really proud of you, Aang. You know, for the first time I  _really_  think we can do this."

"This?"

"Save the world."

Aang smiled despite himself. "I'm glad you two are here with me. I've been told not to try this alone."

Sokka nodded, eyes unfocused with another thought. "Yeah... you'd have to be a real fool to try that."

* * *

Zuko looked up at Roku's statue, eyes deep with pain. "Avatar. Why do you continue to elude me? Oh  _great_  spirit, what have I done in my lifetime to deserve this?"

The room echoed with his acid voice, silent and still. The doors were shut tight behind him, tall and menacing, having only been opened by his Uncle and four Fire Sages. Zuko sneered.

"I don't suppose you have some great wisdom to impart on me? Some other-worldly advice on how to capture you? Some insight into what unlikely circumstance the spirits are conjuring up next so that I may suffer?"

The statue glared down at him, imposing and motionless. Zuko stared back for a long second before clambering to his feet.

"Yeah," he sighed. "I didn't really think so. I've been alone my whole life so far; I don't know why you'd start helping me now."

He pushed out of the room without difficulty and watched the doors shut behind him, not meeting his Uncle's gaze as he hurried down a vacant hallway. "Leave me some peace, Uncle," he ordered over his shoulder.  _I wish to be alone._

He felt Iroh's gaze on him as he left, heard the quiet, "Patience is a virtue," and only grimaced. The solitude of his room would be some familiar comfort.


	21. The Storm

Zuko scraped a hand over his eyes, feeling frustration sizzle like a tight ball of fire in his chest.  _Get him_ _ **off**_ _my ship. Anything is better than this._

"A perfect day for sailing," Zhao proclaimed, hands clasped regally behind his back and chin high. He surveyed the expanse of water before him with apparent relish, Zuko watching from beside him with barely-hidden resentment. The nagging captivation with the Admiral wouldn't leave him alone, no matter how much he loathed the bastard, and Zuko was tired of wondering what it meant – rather tired of Zhao's company entirely.

Iroh shifted on Zhao's other side, brows drawing together in consternation. "I think not, Admiral," he said, voice deep and slow. "There's a storm coming. A big one."

Zuko raised his eyebrow, looking at the sky above him dubiously. "There's not a cloud in sight, Uncle. The weather is perfect."

Iroh gripped the taffrail with one hand, watching the waves break against the prow of the boat with unusual severity. "The storm is coming from the North," he added, as if he hadn't heard Zuko at all. The Prince tried to bury the flash of indignation that stirred in him at being ignored. "I suggest we alter our course and seek shelter in a port." He looked to Zhao expectantly.

 _Why is he addressing him?_ Zuko couldn't help but sniff in offense.  _ **I**_ _am the commander of this ship!_ "And where is the Avatar?" Zuko asked tightly, cutting off Zhao as he opened his mouth to respond.

Iroh shrugged with measured nonchalance. "Heading North, I suspect." He tucked his hands into his voluminous sleeves.

Zuko's jaw clenched, and he gritted out the words, "Then if we wish to maintain any hope of beating him to the North Pole, I suggest we keep going."

Iroh turned to look at him at last, expression grave. "Prince Zuko, consider the safety of the crew. I am warning you, this storm is not one you will want to brave."

Zuko growled and suddenly stepped inside Iroh's guard, leaning forward so his face was a foot from his Uncle's. "The Avatar is far more important than any individual's safety," he hissed, his frustration growing.  _Haven't you learned that by now? It's been three fucking years._

Iroh's eyes strayed to the scar, and the smallest breath of a resigned sigh slipped through his lips.

Grimacing at the motion, the Prince straightened again and adjusted his armor with no small amount of embarrassment at losing his temper. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the writhing anger burning in his chest. "Besides, if any of their lives were in danger, I would be more concerned. But, as I said, the weather is ideal. You're losing your mind."

"We would do well to mind your Uncle," Zhao said, his voice devoid of its usual sneer. Zuko whirled on him, aggression firing back up instantly when met with its source.  _Don't lump me with you,_  he almost snarled, but the Admiral's dark expression stopped him. "Some of the worst storms come after a calm," he muttered. "If there is any clue that one may be coming, it is better to take shelter." He tilted his head, a hint of his normal arrogance slipping back into his countenance. "Even if the storm does not come, we have only lost a day."

"A day means leagues for a skybison!" Zuko replied, unsuccessfully trying to keep his voice even.

"The Avatar will also have to stop, Prince Zuko," Iroh said, his tone the controlled level that Zuko automatically associated with taming wild animals. "If a boat could not make it on the sea, nothing could hope to travel in the sky."

Zuko just stopped himself from turning around again to face him, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat.  _Is that how it is now? Siding with_ _ **him**_ _?_

"Do what you want," he spat, meeting Zhao's eyes with a smoldering glare. "Commander,  _General._  If you have need of me, I will be in the guardhouse."

He strode away quickly, but not fast enough to miss Zhao's sneered, "Petulant child." He ground a hand against his throbbing head and tried not to curse at the passing Marines, who regarded him with somewhat wounded expressions.

Ever since the Winter Solstice, his head had been pounding with every waking minute, and worse whenever he was near Zhao. It had been tolerable when they sailed on their own ships, but the minute Zhao stepped onto his deck, he was hit with a wave of anger and longing that he couldn't suppress. Massaging his temples irritably and trying to stretch his sore neck, he climbed the steps to the guardhouse and slipped inside.

"Zhao being insufferable again, sir?"

"I'm beginning to think that he is not actually savage by nature, but acting. He must put on the façade to piss me off – no one can possibly be so annoying by sheer accident."

Izo chuckled. "You're still young, Prince Zuko. At your age you think everyone is a good person at heart, and they just have bad traits."

Zuko, already sprawled in his usual chair, glowered at the back of his head. "That may be the most naïve, ignorant thing you've ever said, Helmsman."

He shrugged. "Maybe. Honestly, though, do you think Zhao is evil to the core?"

Zuko opened his mouth, ready to affirm his point by screaming, but he stopped himself. Pictures of Zhao speaking well of his Uncle, looking afraid under Zuko's ready fist, smiling in the face of the salty sea breeze, flitted through his memory. He grunted in distaste and said nothing. Izo's triumphant 'hmph' could just be heard. Zuko closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly, running through options in his head.

"Take the ship to port, Izo," he finally said, heart heavy with a bitter resignation.

"Yes, sir."

And like that, Zuko's tense shoulders relaxed slightly, and he opened his eyes without pain. At least someone on this ship still respected him and his command.

* * *

"Those storm clouds have been growing really quickly, Aang. I think we should stop for the night."

Aang's grey eyes were unfocused, seemingly peering into the darkening horizon.

_Lightning flashed brilliantly. Appa roared and swerved to avoid it, the rain beating into his eyes almost horizontally. The sea crashed against him, cold and dark and lifeless. Gyatso's face. "Why did you disappear?"_

" _Why?"_

" _We need you, Aang."_

_Katara's face, the skin melting away until nothing but blanched white bone remained in a cobblestone courtyard. Dark clouds gathered above her._

" _We need you, Aang. We need you. We need you-"_

"Aang!"

The air monk jerked to consciousness as Sokka gave him a rough shake. He stopped his hands from reflexively blasting the boy away, already halfway through the motion, and blinked rapidly. "Sorry, Sokka, sorry." He dropped his hands guiltily. "What?"

The boy looked concerned, hand lingering on his shoulder. "Are you okay, buddy? You were really spaced out there."

Aang rubbed his eyes, feeling his heart pound against his ribcage. "Yeah… yeah, I'm fine. Just had a bad daydream. What were you saying?"

"We think we should head into that port," Katara spoke up from behind him. He turned to face her as she crawled up to sit next to Sokka, sewing abandoned at the back of the saddle. "Those storm clouds are starting to freak us out. We might want to find some shelter."

Eyeing the clouds distrustfully and pushing down further flashbacks, Aang nodded. "You're right. Appa's usually pretty good in rain-" he stopped, smothering a wince of pain and terrifying memories and cold and  _dying_ \- "but… we shouldn't take our chances." He pulled on the reins, aiming for a wide dock where two elderly people stood. He gestured at the pair with his head, trying to stay calm. "We can stop and ask them where to take shelter."

As soon as they landed, Aang hopped down and walked over to the couple, overhearing their ongoing argument while he was still several feet away.

"My joints say there's going to be a storm," the woman said. "A bad one!"

"Well, it's your joints against my brain," he replied, hands on his hips defiantly. "If you won't come, then I'll pay someone else to haul the fish for me!"

"Excuse me?" Aang interrupted them hesitantly, and they both faced him with irate expressions. "It looks like the storm will be pretty bad. You might not want to go out to sea tonight."

"The boy with the tattoos has some sense," the woman huffed, lifting her chin at whom Aang mentally labeled as her husband.

"Tattoos…  _Airbender_  tattoos…" the man mused. His eyes suddenly widened, and he jabbed a finger at Aang. "Yer the Avatar, ain't ya?"

Aang smiled and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, yeah-"

"The Avatar that disappeared for a hundred years? Not interested," the woman sniffed. She turned on her heel and hustled back inside, slamming the door behind her. Aang watched her departure with a vague feeling of guilt, then turned back to the man.

"What did she-"

"She's right, son," he growled. He lifted his head just enough for Aang to see the anger in his wrinkled eyes. "Ya turned yer back on the world."

Aang swallowed hard, pushing down the bile that was quickly rising in his throat.  _The world cannot afford to wait until he's sixteen, Gyatso! They need an Avatar_ _ **now**_ _._ The sight of the storm clouds were just visible over the man's head, hovering on the edge of his vision. "That's not true." He tried to make his voice as firm as the Elder's had been, but it came out shaking. "That's… that's ridiculous."

"Yeah! Aang has never turned his back on anyone in his life!" Katara was suddenly beside him, arms crossed over her chest and glare out in full force. "How dare you even suggest that! He's been spending weeks trying to learn about his duty and help people to whom he owes absolutely nothing."

"He puts all of his effort into saving others," Sokka added, in calmer tones, flanking his other side. "Aang is the bravest kid I know."

The man didn't miss a beat, his grizzly face wrinkling with a scowl and bad memories as he drew himself up to his full height. "Weeks," he spat, hobbling forward a few steps, pain flashing in his eyes. Aang's breath quickened and guilt rose in his stomach on a wave of panic. "'Weeks!' What're weeks ta an old man? Who's seen the horrors of war his whole life? Whose father died in one of the first attacks, as an honest fisherman? What're weeks ta a hun'red years of death? You've grown up in a time of peace, li'lle girl. Ya like ta think the war rages around ya, but ya ain't seen trails of smoke along the path of a Fire Nation regiment, as they burned city after city ta the ground." He stopped, leaning a shaking arm on his cane and lower lip trembling ever so slightly. Katara could only stare at him with wide eyes, one hand clutching the necklace at her throat, and Sokka stood stiffly on his right, not moving. Aang struggled not to choke on his ragged breath as the man's sea green eyes pinned him down, feeling a drop of sweat slide down the back of his neck despite the cold air.

"Weeks," he scoffed bitterly. "And what were ya so afraid of before then?"

"I'm only twelve," Aang managed to croak. The man coughed out a vague noise of disgust.

"I've heard the stories, boy. Rumors about the 'Mighty Avatar's' return come fast. Locked yerself away in the ocean where ya could be safe for a hun'red years-"

"I didn't mean to!" Aang yelled, cutting him off. He ignored Katara's started squeak and Sokka's gentle touch on his arm, viciously swallowing back nervous sobs and a growing sense of helpless anger. The storm clouds seemed to swarm in his line of sight. "I would have done whatever I could have to save your people, if I had just had a little more warning – if I – if I had just had  _one_ friend to keep-"

"Nobody gets the warning they deserve," the man snarled. "You think the Air Nomads did?"

Aang's heart skipped a beat, the breath stolen from his lungs as if it had been cut out of him. He heard Sokka inhale sharply as if he were a mile away. The image of Katara's bleached skull at the temple was joined by Sokka's, the old man's, a whole swarm of skeletons piling in his vision-

"How  _dare_  you talk about that!" Katara hissed.

"What?" the man leered. "The boy's afraid of the storm  _and_ his past? Afraid to own up to the fact that he screwed over the world? Afraid to admit that he's afraid, that he's a coward?"

"Shut up!" Katara screamed, and she stepped forward, hand raised-

"Stop it." Aang's arm blocked her motion, his gaze fixed shakily on the fisherman's face. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, focusing on counting and feeling his thudding heart calm. "I was afraid of my duty," he conceded solemnly. "I wanted more time." He forcibly, physically swallowed his pride. "But you're right. We never have the time. I don't have the time to regret my decisions, and I certainly don't have the time to argue with you about them." He lowered his arm very deliberately, fighting the urge to turn and run, to snap open his glider and escape-

"I need a place to stay for the night," he added, fighting to make his voice even. "Do you know of one in town?"

The fisherman stared at him, watery eyes filled with resentment. Finally, he just grunted and turned around, hoisting a basket of rope onto his back. "There's an inn nearby," he grumbled. "You'll have to pay for room and food – they won't give a kangaroo-rat's ass that you're the Avatar." He moved away, mumbling something degrading under his breath.

Aang turned to Katara questioningly, not trusting his raw nerves to speak intelligently. She shook her head. "Bumi gave us food and travelling supplies, not money," she apologized.

"It's fine," Aang said absently, considering the fisherman as he loaded his little boat, still cursing quietly. At last, knowing he would probably regret the decision, he called out, "Hey! Old man! Do you still need a deck hand?"

The man turned and fixed him with an incredulous stare, just as he felt a heavy, comforting hand settle on his shoulder. "Or two?" Sokka asked, not quite looking at him.

* * *

"What do you know?" Zhao said, rolling his shoulders to loosen them after a long match against Zuko's own Marines. The Commander had turned ruthless when his four opponents had started winning, and had dealt one man an underhanded facial shot, just hot enough to scorch his eyes. The Marine was currently in the infirmary, and ever since, the crew had been below deck in the mess hall, ignoring the officers in the guardhouse. They had orders not to leave the ship, despite it being docked at port.

Zhao craned his neck to look out the guardhouse window. "Looks like your Uncle was right about the storm after all," he chided smugly.

"Lucky guess," Iroh quickly placated, looking between the two from his seat at the Pai Sho table.

Zuko lifted his eyes slowly, wishing he could penetrate the back of Zhao's head with the ferocity of his hatred. "Zhao," he said slowly, "I stretch my ship's and crew's hospitality to house you day after day. You would do well to treat me with respect."

Zhao turned, his face nearly mocking. "Respect? You're the one that has always needed that lesson, Prince Zuko."

"That joke is getting tiresome," Zuko replied from gritted teeth.

"It was never meant as a joke."

Zuko stood with more force than he had intended, making Zhao flinch ever so slightly. Zuko tried not to revel in it like some predatory animal would. "Good. Because I'm not in the mood to deal with banter at the moment," he said, somehow managing to keep his voice even. He clenched his fist at his side, seeing Iroh watch him with blatant worry, but still holding his tongue.

Zhao tilted his head, watching, and then casually strode to stand before Zuko. He leaned forward, his lips inches from Zuko's ear, settling in his guard just as Zuko had done earlier. "Admit that you've lost this one, my boy," he whispered, his voice so low that even Iroh couldn't have heard it. "Your idiocy has lost your Uncle, and your crew, to my sympathies. They should have realized earlier that you weren't worth the time or effort – I just helped the process along."

Zuko ground his teeth together to keep from saying anything.  _Do not lash out_ , he told himself, digging his fingernails into his hand and pressing his arm against his side.  _Do not be dishonorable._

Zhao leaned back again, smirking lightly. "I'm going to get a drink, Iroh. Would you care to join me?"

Zuko looked over the Commander's shoulder, locking eyes with his Uncle. His bland stare the opposite of the torrent of emotions he felt at the offer, covering the childish hope that Iroh would refuse. He  _knew_  his Uncle had to be the diplomat, knew he had to keep playing to Zhao's egotistical desires – and knew that he did it all to make it easier on Zuko.

But his head was throbbing, the sky was dark outside, the rain was just beginning to splash against the guardhouse window, and all he really wanted was a cup of chamomile tea.

Iroh's eyebrows drew together, as though he was trying to decipher the younger men's actions. After what seemed like an eternity, he sighed heavily and stood.

"I would be honored, Commander," he answered, bowing his head slightly. Zhao shifted so Zuko could see his triumphant expression as Iroh held out his arms. "Lead the way."

As the two amiably shuffled out, Zuko sunk back into his seat, furious energy drained. He propped one elbow on the table and held his head in his hand, digging the palm into his eye and trying to bite back tears. He hissed as his neck was racked with a sharp bolt of pain.

 _I really have lost this one._ He felt pure self-disgust course through his mind, fed by the hideous emptiness of the room around him. He was alone, and all was silent.

Finally, he pushed himself up and made his way down two flights of stairs, opening a door he had never once entered in three long years. The mess hall instantly silenced as he entered, and he cast his gaze over the crew members as they scrambled to their feet. Some unknown, warm emotion threatened him at the motion. "At ease." His men relaxed slightly, though the majority still regarded him warily, wondering what had driven him to seek their company. He observed them all for a long minute, battling with his own thoughts. At last, he took a breath.

"Zhao has left the ship for the time being. What say we take it for a little trip? We'll be back before he could stop to wonder why the buffoon of Ember Island shares his last name."

He was met with a single quiet chuckle, while the other Marines stared at him numbly, their shock bordering on horror. Their commander never spoke to them unless it was an order, much less sought them out and  _joked._ Jee stepped forward after a heavy of moment of silence.

"Is it wise to go out in the storm, sir?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly.

"Wise?" Zuko pretended to consider. "Most likely not. Cathartic? Definitely. We won't have to see Zhao strutting like a peacock all over our deck for a few hours." His eyes settled on a pair of Marines in the dark cloth of their underarmour. "How is he?"

"Fine, sir." One replied, somewhat hesitantly.

With more bravado, the second added, "His eyesight will be a little blurry for a few days. Nothing too major, just a little heat scarring. He's bandaged up and resting in his room now, Sir."

Zuko nodded. "Alright men, let's head out. Any objections?"

With the sound of their feet clacking into attention, they all cried, "No sir!"

"Izo!" Zuko called, turning on heel. "I'll need my best helmsman to steer tonight."

"Yes sir!" was the enthusiastic response from behind him. He climbed the stairs once more, buffeted by wind and rain the moment he stepped onto the deck. A small smile wormed its way onto his face, twisted with the tight ball of rage still coiled inside of him. He fancied he saw Iroh's large shape in the window of a pub offshore, but buried the thought quickly. He didn't need the man. Not now.

"You know, he probably has some incredibly clever reason for going with him." Jee's voice suddenly spoke up from behind Zuko, and the prince fought the urge to whirl on the intruder. "Some greater plot he's hoping to accomplish."

"Maybe," Zuko conceded. He noticed the bitter note in his voice and sighed under his breath, crossing the deck so he could hold onto the railing and pretend he was bracing himself against the wind. "Or maybe he just wanted a drink."

"Does it matter?" Jee questioned, as the boat shifted beneath them and Izo steered it out to sea.

He stared into the warm light from the window, feeling the waves lapping against the hull of the boat as it turned. "Of course not," Zuko lied.

* * *

"All hands on deck! I want everything sealed against the water, I want the engines running full speed – dammit! Where were we hit?"

"I don't know!" Jee steadied himself against a current of water, shouting over the crashing waves and yelling crewmen.

"Sir, the Helmsman!"

Zuko felt himself go numb with horror at the anonymous scream, spinning around to see Izo hanging off a bent piece of metal dangling dozens of feet above deck. A wretched, smoking hole had been blown through the side of the guardhouse, the metal twisted and jagged. "Shit!" He took off at a sprint without thinking, hearing the splashing footfalls of the Captain behind him.

"I guess we know where we were hit," Jee hissed, and Zuko didn't pause to so much as grunt, taking the rungs two at a time.

"Hang on, Izo!" he screamed. He turned his head down to the deck, eyes squinted against the downpour. "I want three men on deck prepared to catch the helmsman!"

He couldn't hear if they agreed to the order, between the pounding torrents of rain and wind and the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He kept his eyes fixed on Izo, whose hand was slowly falling down the length of the fragile metal fragment, and there was blood running down his wrist, and it was too slippery to hold on-

"Sir, look out!"

Zuko caught Izo with his right hand as the hair stood up on the back of his neck. He dropped the man into Jee's ready arms, instinctively reached out, and pulled the lightning bolt into his outstretched hand.

A tidal wave slammed into the side of the boat, the crash of the water and the thunderbolt drowning out Izo's shriek. Twitching, Zuko's hand lost its grip, and he fell sideways into the crashing waves.

* * *

"Zuko? Zuko!"

Zuko snapped into consciousness, sitting straight up on the deck that was still being barraged with the hurricane. He was immediately slammed into a bone-crushing hug, and he turned his head numbly to stare at the hugger. Brown hair, tan skin, clothes soaked through…

"Who are you?" he asked.

He – definitely male – pulled away, giving him a wary stare. "Zuko, I'm Izo. I am the helmsman. You are the commander of this ship. We are in a typhoon, and we need to get back to port."

"Why am I sitting on the deck then?" Zuko asked crisply, standing. "Helmsman, do you have enough of a vantage point to steer us to the eye of the storm?"

"I should, sir," the helmsman replied, somewhat hesitantly. "I'll need to get back up to the guardhouse, but it'll be dangerous."

Zuko's eyebrows scrunched and he looked up to the guardhouse, only to see that there was a rough hole blasted in one side. "Take two men to steady you," Zuko ordered, looking at the number of men on deck. He commanded them all? "I want two men under the hole in the guardhouse, now!" he ordered, louder, and the two nearest men rushed to follow his orders. He turned back to the helmsman, only to note that he was still regarding him with a lingering stare. "Get going, helmsman!"

"Sir!"

Zuko instinctively turned, seeing a middle-aged man with a sprawling beard slogging towards him though the flood. The uniform named him Captain – he must be the second in command.

Zuko paused.  _Why can't I remember this?_  He should know his crewmembers, if he really was their commander. A vague vision of a lightning bolt shot through his mind, echoing with pain, and he shook it out quickly. Not now. He had to get these men to safety first. "Captain?"

"There's another ship out at sea, a wood one. It's not sturdy enough to survive these waves. Orders?"

Zuko scrubbed a hand over his right eye. He  _really_  didn't need this – that much was for certain. "How far?"

"Look over your shoulder, sir."

The boat in question was hardly a stone's throw from the ship, being tossed viciously by the colossal waves. Zuko considered shortly. It was rather close – it wouldn't take much time to reach it, but it was still was a distraction from ensuring his men were safe.

"Tell the helmsman to intercept it," Zuko decided. "I want all their passengers onboard in five. Whoever doesn't make it doesn't make it – we're turning the ship not a moment later."

"Yes sir!"

* * *

"Aang, this was a bad idea!"

"I know, Sokka, I know!" Aang sloppily tried to make an air shield to stop an incoming wave, but it broke, the water splashing into his open mouth and down his throat. His shoulders shook as he tried again, openly sobbing, knowing with absolute certainty that he was going to die. Visions of Gyatso's face and his glider and Appa overlaid reality, and he couldn't shake the terror that gripped every muscle and bone in his body.

"Keep slingin' the water out, boy!"

"I'm working on it! You steer!"

"I'm steerin', sure, but there ain't nowhere to aim!"

Sokka stopped throwing water off the deck with a flimsy basket, face contorted in despair. "I don't want to die!" he yelled, voice raw with tears and salt water.

"Nobody wants ta die, kid, so keep workin'!" the old man snapped, throwing his whole body against the rudder as a wave stormed into one side of the boat, threatening to tip it over completely.

Aang felt quick, shallow breaths racking his lungs, and shot a blast of air at an incoming wave to split it around the boat. Out of nowhere, a black ship emerged across their path.

Sokka swore, catching sight of it. "We're on a collision course! Turn, turn!" He reached for the rudder, grabbing for it manically.

"Calm down, sonny!" The old man pushed Sokka away roughly, sending him skirting across the wet deck. "That ship is trying ta rescue us, not hit us. Everyone ta the prow!"

"Grab the rope!" A faint voice carried over the wind, and suddenly, a wet rope was flung onboard, hitting the wood with a splash barely audible over the storm. Sokka flung himself down to tackle it, holding it desperately in both hands. "Now what?" he cried.

"Tie it ta something, the mast maybe!" The old man braced himself against the rudder as a wave crashed overboard, sending Aang slamming into the opposite rail. "Steady, boy!"

Aang couldn't speak through his panic. He watched Sokka frantically tie the rope to the mast, and then turn back to the looming black ship. "It's tied!" he screamed. "Please help us!"

Their boat was slowly pulled abreast the ship, until their sides gently touched. More ropes were immediately tossed down. "Hurry up," someone called. "We have to leave soon!"

"Ropes," Aang said, the word tasting sour in his throat. Ropes were used for tying up prisoners, for binding people together-

He grabbed the old man in one arm and Sokka in the other and in a burst of adrenaline, leaped. He airbent without truly thinking about it, without huge gestures, and sent them flying over the railing of the towering ship. They landed in a heap on the wet metal, coughing out salt water and picking themselves up uneasily.

Sokka was the first to his feet, a broken "Thank you" halfway out of his lips when he saw his surroundings. "Aw, shit! Aang, this was a bad idea!"

"What? Why?" Aang airbent himself to his feet, the feeling of impending doom lessening slightly with the feeling of solid metal under his feet. He followed Sokka's line of sight, and his breath caught in his throat. The metal was suddenly far more familiar and far less comforting.

Zuko's profile was just visible through the slanted rain, the scar dark against his pale face. His feet were firmly planted, shoulder-width apart, and his arms were crossed over his chest. His phoenix tail whipped in the wind, stray hairs plastering over his forehead, but he didn't so much as twitch to move them, so intent on overseeing the ordered chaos that was his deck. He turned to the rescued group, face utterly expressionless. Aang could only watch, confusion boiling in the pit of his stomach, as he regarded them without emotion for a long second, and turned back to his crew. "Cut the rope tied to their mast. Turn away from the wood boat; distance ourselves from it immediately! I want engines at 80% capacity – get three firebenders downstairs to take over  _now_."

Sokka faced Aang, his jaw slack with shock, as Zuko continued to shout orders and ignore their presence entirely. "What in Koh's name is going on, Aang?" he asked, voice unnerved and shaking with fear. "Is this some weird spirit shenanigans that I should know about?"

Aang could only shake his head. "I have no idea. Maybe this is all just a ruse?"

"Maybe he's just takin' ya back ta port," the fisherman spoke up, having grabbed the taffrail in a two-handed grip and settled with his head down. "What does it matter? He saved us, di'n't he?"

"Sure, but you don't know him," Sokka argued, somewhat indignantly. "He wouldn't 'save' us without having something far more hideous in store."

"I know plenty of his kind," the old man replied, and for once the bitter edge to his tone was somewhat subdued. "Those Fire Nation soldiers all act tough and cruel, but some of 'em would rather not have civilians die on their watch. So what if he keeps ya prisoner? It's better than being dead, ain't it?"

"Don't worry about it Sokka," Aang mumbled. "We've escaped from this ship once, we can do it again."

"What was that?" Sokka asked, shouting to be heard. Aang shook his head in reply.

"Nothing. We'll be fine."

As if in answer, the air stilled without warning, the sea calming to an even level under the ship. Blue skies soared straight above them, and a hint of pale sunlight blushed over the deck. The ship stilled immediately, silence reigning over the crew as the enormity of what they had accomplished settled over them. The peaceful, breathless moment shattered as a dozen crewmen all cheered together, screaming with wordless relief.

The rescued men were largely ignored, Aang watching from a distance as Zuko's face melted into a genuine grin and he whirled to hug a middle aged man embossed with two silver bars. "We did it, Captain!" He turned and clasped arms with another Marine, and waved joyously to the helmsman far above, who was jumping and shouting with glee.

Sokka sank to a sitting position beside him, holding his head in his hands and visibly trying not to cry. Aang knelt beside him, one hand awkwardly on his shoulder, understanding his exhaustion and bewilderment. Still, he couldn't take his eyes of the sight of the banished Prince, proud and happy and uncaring, for all his honor, that the Avatar was willingly on his ship.

* * *

"You're alive! Thank the powers that be, you're home at last!"

"Eh, gerroff me woman. I wasn't gonna die out there."

"You said you were afraid to die," Sokka sniffed, but the smile in his eyes as he watched the two embrace couldn't be hidden, lit up by the platinum lunar glow.

"Yer one to talk, lad," the old man scowled. Aang stifled laughter.

At last, the woman leaned back, eyes squinting to see clearly in the darkness. "But how did you make it? And where is the boat?" She looked over her husband's shoulder, searching for any sign of the wooden hull, and was met with the chilling sight of a black Firenation ship. Her eyes flew wide. "What? What are they doing here?"

"Ma'am." Zuko strode up to them, still disturbingly calm in Aang's presence. He nodded to the old woman respectfully, expression solemn. The other crewmen were still onboard, bandaging injured and bailing water. "We have brought your husband home this time," he said firmly. "Please restrain him, if he ever decides to go out in such weather again." He turned to Sokka and Aang, not even a flicker of recognition on his face. "The same with you, boys. You should have known not to look for fish in that storm."

Sokka looked like he was about to faint from shock, his tan face drawn and pale and eyebrows almost touching his hairline. Aang watched Zuko and, suddenly struck with revelation, bowed deeply. He took a deep breath, questioned the intelligence of what he was about to do, and then spoke. "Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, Son of Ozai and Ursa, Nephew to Dragon of the West, Iroh; we are deeply honored to have been rescued by the hospitality of you and your crew."

He straightened, carefully watching Zuko's face. For one terrifying moment, his face remained utterly blank. Then, something flashed in his expression, and his hand twitched, rising slowly to touch the charred skin surrounding his left eye. He staggered back a step as if punched, but steadied himself before Aang could so much as reach him. "Oh," Zuko whispered softly, his face hung from view. " _Oh._ "

"Zuko?" Aang asked, tentative.

"The Prince of the Fire Nation!" The old woman grabbed her husband's arm and yanked him back, practically throwing him through the open inn door. "Stay away from me and my family, you disgusting filth!" She followed after the fisherman, slamming the door behind them. The sound of a lock turning echoed in the dark, silent streets. Nobody dared move.

"Zuko?" Aang asked again.

"How  _dare_ you!" Zuko screeched, snapping his head up to glower at Aang. "How dare you come aboard my ship, and take advantage of my crew-!"

"You saved us, Angry Boy," Sokka interrupted, stepping between Aang and the furious Prince. "If you want to regret it, fine, but don't take it out on him."

"You could have killed more men," Zuko hissed, bending around Sokka to look Aang in the eye. "You know what a risk it was, wasting time to save your flimsy ship from your own stupidity? I took it because I thought you would be innocent – if I had known it was the boy that had murdered one of my Marines, I wouldn't have bothered!"

"What are you talking about?" Sokka asked, daring to push Zuko back. "Aang's never killed anybody!"

"Not of his own decision, maybe," Zuko spat, smoldering gaze still pinned unerringly on the monk and not even bothering to fight Sokka back. "Do you even realize what you've done?"

Aang felt the panic rise in his stomach, still hovering nearby, ever ready for a trigger when storm clouds were in sight. He stared into molten gold eyes, expecting for fear to cover him in a cold blanket – yet he felt a warm calm settle over him instead. He stepped around Sokka, standing uneasily just in front of the shaking Prince. "Zuko," he said slowly, trying to ignore the Prince's implications, to  _cover_  and  _bury_  them, "You were at the Southern Air Temple with your Uncle. I've wanted to ask you ever since you captured me; why were you there? How did your Uncle know to leave me that message?"

Zuko's brow crinkled. "What are you talking abou-"

"Prince Zuko! What in the name of all  _hells_  were you thinking?" A furious voice echoed around a corner, making Zuko snap his head towards its source. His eyes flew wide when he recognized the man, though Aang couldn't see who it was.

"Get inside!" he growled, pushing Aang and Sokka roughly. "Hurry up, go through the back door! Run!"

"Wha-"

"Don't fucking  _question_  me, monk, just follow orders – unless you  _really_  want to be captured tonight." He shoved them into the alley, gesturing urgently towards the inn on the left. "Get out of here, now!"

"Why would we follow orders from you?" Sokka started, but before he could even finish the question, Aang had grabbed his hand and yanked him deeper into the alley. The two forms slipped seamlessly into the clouded darkness of the night, diving around the corner and pressing themselves against the inn's back wall. They sunk behind a cart of garbage, Aang holding a commanding finger to his lips. "Don't look a gift ostrich-horse in the mouth," he whispered.

Sokka nodded, blue eyes wide. Aang stared at the wall facing them without focus, a thousand tangled thoughts buzzing through his head. He was going to have a terrible headache in the morning – and he was talking to Roku as soon as physically possible. And he was  _not_  going to think about Zuko's accusations, not until the storm was gone, and he could think straight.

"Zuko! Are you alright?" Iroh's frantic voice echoed to their position, and Aang stilled to listen. Zuko's voice sounded muffled - by clothes? - when he replied.

"I'm fine, Uncle. I… I… No, I'm not fine. I feel like I'm going to be sick-"

Aang leaned into the moment of silence, curiosity begging him to peek. He stilled the urge. Finally, the unknown voice scoffed with arrogance. "I have never met such a stubborn, idiotic child. What disgusting weakness. Not to mention the damage done to the ship-"

"His ship, Zhao," Iroh said coldly. "And I think he has shown incredible strength tonight, by returning all his men unharmed. I suggest you return to your crew, or find a room to stay for the night. Our ship is not the most hospitable tonight."

"Is that a dismissal?" 'Zhao' asked, voice low and dangerous.

"Yes," Iroh answered sharply. "Leave us. And while you head to the dock, tell Captain Jee to meet me inside."

The sound of a hateful sigh and bootfalls were all that reached Aang's ears for a long minute, until his sensitive hearing picked up quiet sobs and the dull rap of knocking. "It's safe," he breathed. "Let's head inside and get dried off."

"Maybe Katara will have food?" Sokka asked, hopefully following Aang through the back door. Aang shook his head and tried to chuckle.


	22. Trust

Zuko woke up in a soft bed, complete with scratchy sheets and a flat pillow. As usual, he took toll of his entire body, noting the dull ache of his muscles, the constriction in his chest, the inflammation of his nose and throat, and as always, the strange sensation of emptiness stemming from the base of his neck. He could hear seagulls calling outside, and could just pick up on the gentle roar of the sea. The constant motion of his ship was missing, however, and there was a gentle light filtering through his eyelids that never would have reached his cabin aboard the  _Azuma_. He was still in port, then. He let his eyes slide open, blinking once to adjust to the lighting.

"Uncle." His voice was scratchy. Wetting his lips, he tried again. "Uncle, why are we still here?"

"Prince Zuko." In contrast to his own, Iroh's voice was warm and flooded with relief. Zuko turned his head in the direction of the sound, unsurprised to see his uncle sitting at his bedside, smiling widely with a soft look in his eyes. "I'm so happy that you're awake."

Zuko rolled his eyes. "Don't get sentimental," he berated, sitting up on his elbows. He fought for consciousness as the world spun around him, sitting up the rest of the way only when he was confident he could keep his eyes fixed on Uncle's face. "Tell me it's only been one night."

"It's only been one night," Iroh echoed, a hint of laughter in his words as he held out a cup of water. Zuko gave him a withering stare and accepted it gratefully, downing it before he spoke again.

"Is that the truth?"

"Yes, my nephew."

"Good." Rolling his shoulders, Zuko nodded to himself. "I need to check the damage to my ship, and my men." He threw the sheets to one side and stood up decisively, pleased that the action didn't stretch any of his sore muscles too painfully, though it did send an unsteadying rush of blood to his head that he weathered shakily. Looking down, he bit back a sigh and turned back to his Uncle. "If I could be clothed properly I would appreciate it."

Iroh hesitated a moment, but eventually gestured to the chair where Zuko's armor was stacked, the black underarmor hung over the back to dry. Zuko walked across the room to stand before it, measuring the strain in his step and finding it acceptable. Less acceptable was the pain that shot up his arm, punishing his attempt to pull off the baggy tunic he was wearing. He bit back the involuntary cry that rose in his throat, ending disappointingly with a badly-hidden wince and a low hiss.

"Are you sure you're fit to be up?" Iroh's expected question from behind him. Zuko silently cursed his inability to keep his pain secret.

"I feel as good as ever, Uncle, save a little stiffness." He grit his teeth and tried again, pulling off the shirt quickly and reaching for his own.

"Your voice doesn't reflect that healthiness, Prince Zuko."

"So I have a bit of a cold," he bit back, somewhat defensively. "You would too if you had been out last night." He drew in a breath, steeled himself, and pulled on the shirt. Sharp pain raced down his arms to his chest, and he breathed out slowly, ignoring it. He pulled off the pants he was wearing and pulled on the others, pleased that the movement wasn't nearly as tiresome, before he noticed Iroh's silence. He turned, feeling shame blossom low in his chest in anticipation of his words.

"Uncle?"

Iroh raised his head to look at him, eyebrows drawn. "Why? You're a better seaman than that, Prince Zuko."

Zuko looked down, feeling his face flush. The movement made him dizzy, so he quickly raised his eyes again. Iroh was watching him, gaze unwavering, expression unreadable. "I wanted some time to myself," Zuko finally answered, crossing his arms.

Iroh nodded slowly, then leaned forward in his seat, expression too warm for a lecture. "I hope you realize why I left with Zhao last night. If I thought you needed me, my nephew, I wouldn't have left your side. Not for the world."

Trying to deny that he felt lighter at the words, Zuko scoffed and reached for his armor. "I wouldn't understand your plots if you spent the next year explaining them to me, Uncle," Zuko replied. Helmet under arm, he turned to see Iroh's face, and allowed his voice to soften just enough for his sincerity to be clear. "But I know you meant no harm by it."

"And were you harmed?"

Zuko pictured lightning, bright in his eyes and unbelievably, excruciatingly hot as it soaked into his fingertips, hungrily flew up his arms-

"No," he lied. "But I can't say the same for  _Azuma,_  or the crew, so if you'll excuse me…."

Zuko strode out, knowing with a tame surge of arrogance that his Uncle would grab the other pieces of his armor for him. He didn't trust himself to wear it at the moment, and even if he did, he wanted to walk with a little freedom in the cool coastal morning. Not waiting for Iroh, he hurried down the stairs to the left of the room and out the first door he saw, smiling as sunshine hit his face and taking a deep breath of the salty air.

"Now," he muttered to himself, looking around at the alleyway he had walked into. Old wooden walls, mud, and a sliver of sky were all that greeted him. "Where is my ship?"

"To your left, Prince Zuko." Iroh's indulgent voice answered, echoing from the hallway he had just left. "I think Captain Jee will be pleased to see you up and about, and so spritely after last night's incident."

Zuko followed his Uncle's directions, stepping out onto the main dock, and was immediately stopped in his tracks with a wince. Iroh finally drew abreast his shoulders and laid a hand on his arm, and Zuko was silently grateful that he did it with unusual gentleness. "Yes, my nephew," he chuckled, "you really did quite a number on her."

"I don't think the Captain will be pleased to see me at all," Zuko muttered. He swallowed hard and wiped a thin sheen of sweat off his forehead. Iroh caught the movement and gave him a hard look.

"Are you sure you're alright, Zuko?" he asked. His gold eyes ran over Zuko's thin face, giving him a thorough once-over. "You look paler than usual. Perhaps we shou-"

"Don't  _mother_  me, Uncle!" Zuko shrugged off his hand and tried to gather what shreds of dignity he retained. He placed the helmet on the pile of armor in Iroh's arms with a small glare. "I've told you I feel fine, and you will respect that. Go bother Zhao or something."

"Very well," Iroh agreed, with what Zuko's assumed was a long-suffering sigh for his petulance. "But remember, Prince Zuko; no matter what Zhao says to you, we still need him. We aren't anywhere close to being through Fire Nation waters yet, and we need to make towards the North Pole with all possible haste. We can't afford to lose his escort now." Iroh leveled a serious look on his nephew. "Can you handle this?"

Zuko stared back, chewing on the seriousness of the question. Whatever his answer was, he knew that his Uncle would respect it. At last, he nodded. "I will do my best, Uncle." And with that, he set his back to Iroh and sadly looked over the beaten hull of the  _Azuma_ one more time, steeling himself as Iroh walked away. Breathing in, he drew himself up, set his jaw, and walked towards his ship with all the unabashed confidence he could muster.

"Captain!" he called, and was pleased that his rough voice could still carry over the wind with the power of command.

"Prince Zuko?" Jee's face appeared at the deckrail immediately, and though he didn't look ecstatic, Zuko didn't think he seemed too murderous. He crossed the dock quickly, and found himself trying not to feel nervous as he boarded the ship. He carefully watched Jee's reaction for any sign of anger, but the Captain only showed vague happiness, and straightened as Zuko stopped at attention before him. "What are your orders, sir?" he asked, without a hint of resentment.

Zuko buried his surprise with a steady look, and inwardly cursed that Iroh had, once again, out-guessed him. "How are the repairs coming?"

Jee shrugged. "Better than we originally expected, sir. A few blacksmiths from town heard the news and came to help us along, and their efficiency is certainly admirable."

Zuko paused, tilting his head inquisitively. "Red or Green?"

"Red, I believe. I don't think any Occupied dirtmen would willingly help a Fire Nation ship. Although, their methods are certainly interesting. It's almost as if… well, in any case, they are speeding the process along."

Zuko scrutinized the Captain's face for any danger in the information he had left out, but could see no malice in his eyes. And, in case he had misjudged, he promised himself he would speak to his blacksmiths later. Casting his gaze over the ship, he noted the small improvements; the patches were a slightly darker metal, though otherwise hardly noticeable. He was impressed despite himself. "Are we paying them?" he couldn't help but ask.

A flicker of amusement crossed Jee's face. "They didn't mention it."

Zuko thought for a moment, greedy hope surging briefly, but he snuffed the desire before it could take root. "Give them a day's wages, in gratitude," he ordered brusquely. "If they ask for more, tell them they should have negotiated their price before working."

Jee smiled and saluted crisply. "Yes sir. Anything else?"

Zuko half-turned away, hoping that Jee wouldn't take his next question as a sign of lax discipline – or worse, legitimate concern. "How are the men?"

To his surprise, Jee laughed outright, making Zuko flinch and turn back. He watched the older man with narrow eyes, trying to interpret the reaction, until the Captain calmed his merriment to a wry grin. "Prince Zuko, the men are fine. A little waterlogged and rather exhausted, but they had the time of their lives last night, once they figured out you weren't going to let them die." He let out another bark of laughter. "You made them feel like they were true sailors! Although," he lowered his voice conspiratorially and leaned closer, "you may have also given them delusions of grandeur. I think some of the men now believe that they, and you, are invincible."

Zuko was too surprised to laugh as Jee leaned back. "Have I hired madmen?" he asked, incredulous. "'The time of their lives?' What kind of people-"

"Criminals and adrenaline junkies, the lot." Zhao's sneer was as condescending as his tone as he strutted up to the two men, drawing dirty glances from the crewmen he passed by. His face twisted with anger as he looked over Zuko, immediately turning the Prince's mood sour. "And you're no better, you moronic teenager of a Prince." Zuko snarled, but said nothing as Zhao continued, eyes tight with fury. "What kind of seaman allows his ship to leave dock in such weather, especially against the direct advice of your two commanding officers? I ought to have you locked up for this insubordination."

Zuko sniffed and raised his chin, feeling heat rush to his knuckles. "You are not my commanding officer, Zhao. I believe we've discussed this." He surreptitiously balled his hands into fists and let some of his anger steam away, waves of warmth rolling from his hands. Zhao raised an eyebrow and one foot shifted back a few inches, what Zuko recognized as a defensive move.

In a flash, he was reminded of Iroh's disappointed face, questioning 'why?'; the crewman's hesitant 'is that wise, sir?'; Zhao's contemptuous 'idiot boy!' before he had fainted last night. And now, Zhao thought Zuko would attack him before accepting his rebuke. Even if the desire was there, Zuko would not allow himself to, not at this juncture. He would not undo weeks of enduring the man because he couldn't handle the one criticism that was completely deserved. He would not lose his temper when he Iroh had put his faith in him.

Hating every aspect of his situation, he clasped his hands behind his back and bowed his head, taking a moment to draw in a deep breath as he felt both men's eyes on him. "However. I do recognize that, as you are my escort, I should not have left your ship unsupervised while in Fire Nation waters. And for that, I do apologize. It won't happen again."

The words tasted bitter in his mouth, and Zuko had to swallow hard to erase them. He heard Jee breathe out, a little too forcefully to be happy. Determined to keep a penitent face, and not to feel so unsteady on his feet, he straightened slowly and looked Zhao in the eye.

Not for the first time, he cursed how well the man had been trained for court. His face was a closed book, completely unreadable. Finally, with a dissatisfied humph, he nodded. "Very well. I expect your dump of a ship to be ready to leave by tomorrow morning. The Avatar will be miles ahead of us by now, and if we want to maintain any chance of ambushing him at the North Pole we cannot afford any more delays." He crossed his arms, letting his hands twitch and his biceps flex. "Do you understand me?" he asked, voice heavy with implications.

Zuko raised a hand to his head and wiped away the sweat that had accumulated there, rubbing his eyes to clear them. Noticing how weak he appeared, he made sure to meet Zhao's gaze evenly, to reassert some small portion of his authority. "I understand," he said evenly, instead of the scathing  _don't dare to threaten me_  that he wanted to utter.

Zhao paused before whirling and sauntering back towards the gangplank. Zuko took the opportunity to cough into one elbow, flinching at the pain it caused in his chest. "He's wrong," he muttered. His head was spinning too much for him to notice how the crisp sound of Zhao's boots falling on the metal deck stopped. He let his eyes slip closed. "The Avatar isn't far from here… he couldn't have gotten far…." He turned to Jee, confused, barely able to notice the Captain's worried expression. "I don't feel well, Captain."

He felt the deck rise up to meet him.

* * *

 

"We  _really_  ought to be moving on, Aang. Who knows when Zuko could just storm in here and capture us all?"

Aang looked up from the parchment he was examining and made a placating gesture. "Katara, calm down. As much as I would like to leave right now, Sokka can't move. His fever is way too high."

Katara opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted.

"He's right, lassy." The old fisherman's wife adjusted the wet towel on his head and stood. "This boy needs a good day rest and lots o' water before he'll be good 'nuff to travel 'gain. And I got work to get to now, so yer on yer own with him. Come down if ya need any food." She bustled out, muttering under her breath about debts and troublesome children. Katara watched her leave before turning back to Aang with a glare.

"You don't think I want what's best for him?" she huffed. "Of course I want him to get better. But I'd rather he do it on Appa than in prison." She crossed her arms, the picture of a stubborn sister. Aang was almost endeared enough to agree with her, but…

He looked over to Sokka, who was flushed and shivering under the scratchy sheets of the inn bed, too tired and delirious to even hear them. His own stubborn streak flared up.  _No. I am not taking him anywhere until he's strong enough to go. He won't get hurt because of me anymore. Even I have to argue with..._

"Katara…." He sighed, and looked back to the Water Tribe girl, weighing the words he could say.

She stared back, aggressive and protective, but trusting that he would speak his mind honestly. "Yeah, Aang?"

He swallowed. He wanted to tell her what he knew about Zuko, the  _reasons_  he was sure they were safe for the time being, but as it was… it wouldn't sit well with either of the siblings, and especially not with her. Still, his eyes burned as he looked down again, avoiding her bright blue gaze. He hated to lie. It went against his traditions, his very culture. He settled for the question as close to the truth as he dared to venture, voice quiet. "Don't you think that if Zuko really wanted to capture us, he would have done it by now?"

"Uh, yeah," came her immediate reply. "And he has. And he'll do it again. Because he does want to."

"What about last night?" Aang pressed, gaining the nerve to look up at her again. He leaned forward earnestly. "He had  _at least_  two chances to put Sokka and I in chains, and he didn't."

"Last night doesn't count," Katara insisted, putting her hands on her hips, though Aang caught the flicker of doubt that crossed her face. "He was tired and sick. But today is a different story, Aang!"

"Not if Sokka is anything to go by," Aang muttered, turning back to his parchment.

"If  _you're_  anything to go by," Katara snapped. She crossed the room and sat across from him gracelessly. "If you're so sure this storm would have him bedridden, then why aren't you?"

Aang shrugged. It wasn't as if he could explain his body's strengths of weaknesses. But Katara made an annoyed sound in her throat, needling him enough to say, "I'm the Avatar, and airbenders rarely get sick anyway. Besides, I've been in worse conditions."

Katara was silent for a long minute, save her focused, forcefully even breathing - what Aang interpreted as an attempt to calm down. Late-morning light filtered into the room, and eventually Katara stood to adjust the damp cloth on Sokka's forehead so that it covered his eyes. Aang watched her despite himself, admiring her lovingness, the softness of her face, her long, delicate fingers. Blushing, he busily turned back to the parchment before him, spreading it with one hand. When Katara spoke again, she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand over her brother's. "What are you looking at?"

"I found it outside the door this morning," Aang admitted, not looking up. "It looks like a... a recipe. "

Curiosity piqued, Katara returned to his side. "For what?"

Aang squinted. Some of the words seemed like High Fire Nation, and it had been a long time since he had had any lessons reading  _that_  language. Still, the majority of the note had been written in the Common Language, and from what he could infer -

"Tea?"

"Tea." Katara's voice was flat.

"Yeah," Aang defended. "'Healing tea, a brew meant to lower fevers and cure colds.' And then it talks about the ingredients."

Katara made a face. "And that doesn't seem the  _least bit_  obvious? Like, I don't know, a trap?"

Aang stared at her, brows knotted. "Katara, are you trying to take over for Sokka in the sarcastic arena? How do you expect the Fire Nation to trap the Avatar with  _tea?_ "

"I don't know!" she cried, throwing up her hands as the hint of an embarrassed flush crept up her cheeks. "Maybe it's poisonous! How do you think this suspicious, unsigned recipe on supposedly 'healing' tea showed up right outside our door, when we're in hiding and no one is supposed to know that Sokka is even  _here_ , let alone sick?"

Aang's eyes strayed to the White Lotus that had taken the place of a signature near the bottom left of the page. He itched to say something honest. Katara watched him, annoyance and concern all over her face. Caught between her and the parchment, Aang stood abruptly and made for the door, tucking the recipe into his belt, under his habit. "Look," he said, fumbling for something that didn't sound like the bald-faced lie it would be. "I… I know the recipe. Gyatso used to make it for me whenever I was feeling bad. Maybe the old woman knows it."

Katara watched him for a long second, scrutinizing Aang as he hovered in the doorway. "Okay," she finally said, softly. "Are you going to get the ingredients then?"

Aang nodded mutely, feeling disgusted and unworthy of the beautiful girl's trust and dedication, especially when she capitulated so easily. Katara just smiled lightly, seeming a little sad. "Alright. I'll stay here and watch Sokka – don't make me worry about you, kay? Hurry back. I don't want to be up all night, sick with concern that you've been captured, only for you to come back with extra essence of tea."

"Yeah, alright," Aang mumbled, leaving quickly and shutting the door behind him. He raised his hands to massage his temples, inwardly cursing himself. He had never felt so despicable in his whole life.

* * *

 

"Do you have the information I requested?"

"I don't work for you, Zhao. You do realize that?"

"I realize that we have a common goal, and a common leader, that I am a higher ranking soldier than you, and that you are obligated by law, contract, and  _fear_  to obey me. Do you realize  _that?"_

"Don't threaten me, you disgustin-"

The sharp slap echoed through the ship's belly, bouncing off the maze of pipes and beams.

"Now. Do you have the information?"

"Zuko was right. The Avatar is staying at the inn, right off the dock. Second floor, the room farthest from the stairs."

"How… interesting."

"Am I done here? Can I get back to my duties, or do you want me to do something stupid, like burn the inn to the ground?"

"Oh, no. Your idiocy won't be necessary in this delicate operation. What you can find me, however, is how Zuko knew."

Silence settled over them, heavy and sick.

"What? You think you already know?"

There was no response. Zhao tutted.

"Maybe it has something to do with last night. Maybe you could fill me on the exact details of the Prince's little wayward adventure."

The spy turned to leave.

"No?" Zhao called after them, taunting. "How sentimental. You know that I will find out, in the end. One way or another. And if you were involved…"

Fire blazed over Zhao's hand, bright in the darkness, before being abruptly snuffed out. The spy's step faltered, and Zhao laughed, smugly slipping into the shadows as his informer kept walking, away from the betrayal they had dealt.

* * *

 

Zuko crossed his arms over the taffrail, wondering why the cold metal was always so comforting when things went wrong.

Not only had he wrecked his ship and endangered the lives of his crew in a reckless, childish fit, but he was weaker for it. He, Prince of the Fire Nation, had fainted twice, and both times in the presence of the most arrogant, condescending officer he had ever met - who no doubt had already sent correspondence of both incidents to his father, sister, and most of the capital. He was making a fool of himself.

But then, Zuko figured, he had been making a fool of himself since the day he was born.

He reached up, absently rubbing the back of his neck. He wondered why he couldn't think things through like Azula, why he couldn't see every perfect, individual plan like threads and pull on them like a puppetmaster. She knew what everyone wanted, what everyone feared, and in moments could devise a plan to exploit all of them. Zuko could barely plan how to get dressed without experiencing pain. Azula was always so precise, so collected, so self-assured, and Zuko…

He laid his forehead against the metal bar slowly, watching Zhao stand at the prow of his ship, anchored across the dock. It was no wonder Father wanted her as the heir. She deserved the throne. On nights like these Zuko could hardly make himself feel indignant about it. He just wished he hadn't been the firstborn to begin with.

He coughed quietly into his elbow, staring at Zhao and feeling the infuriating, gnawing desire to stand closer to him. Why was he haunted like this? He  _hated_  the man, and there was no way in Koh's dark lair that the attraction was physical.

Spirits. It had to be. But why they would choose to stick their meddling fingers in like  _this_ was baffling. He supposed he could ask Iroh for an answer, but the mere thought of the possible discussions that could follow made that course of action impossible. What if Iroh didn't believe Zuko, didn't agree that the Spirits must have a hand in this tiresome obsession? He shuddered at the thought of the understanding that would light up in the older man's eyes, the sadistic pleasure he would take in giving him the  _talk-_

Zuko suddenly sat up straighter, horror forgotten as his sharp gold eyes picking up a flicker of red and brown against the waves, lit by the last rays of sunlight. He squinted, noticing the odd shape now perched on the taffrail before Zhao. Zhao approached it, reached towards it, touched it, backed away-

A messenger bird, then. And from the looks of it, a phoenix-hawk. Zuko grimaced; the bird was in the employment of the Fire Nation military. Zhao, having read the correspondence, pulled the quill from the carrier on the bird's back. He scrawled a quick reply on the back of the parchment, replaced it, and waved for the hawk to go. Zuko pulled up his legs into a tight crouch, waiting to see if the Commander would go down to his cabin or into port. Zhao looked around him once, casting his gaze over the harbor – and stopped when his eyes came to Zuko. He took a step forward, face fixed in the Prince's direction.

Heart pounding, Zuko stayed still, crouched on the balls of his feet. Zhao must have seen him, and if his suspicious behavior was anything to go by, would either attack Zuko or verbally confront him. It wasn't strange for him to be contacting someone in the military, but to check his surroundings afterwards? Zhao had to be up to something, and something he obviously hadn't meant for Zuko to know. He fought down the urge to check if Izo was up in the guardhouse, knowing that the man was probably earning well-deserved sleep in his quarters. In fact, his whole crew was probably asleep, after the flurry of activity to make the ship ready for travel by morning. No one was awake to witness the conflict, not even Iroh.

Zhao's low laugh could just be heard across the water, making Zuko's every muscle tense involuntarily. In his personal experience, laughter was only followed by especially vindictive, painful attacks. He prepared to jump to his feet and make the first move, gathering chi in his legs, when a shadow appeared, seemingly out of thin air, in front of Zhao. This time, however, the shape was human, and it bowed its head quickly and gestured to the far side of the dock, mumbling a few words Zuko couldn't hear. Both Zuko and Zhao followed the aim of his arm, and though Zuko tried his hardest, he couldn't see what the shadow-man was pointing to. He surreptitiously rubbed his eyes, trying to see through his illness without drawing attention to himself, but to no avail.

Obviously, Zhao didn't have the same problem. With a nod, he and his strange companion began walking off the ship in the same direction, their dark clothes already melting into the shadows of the early night.

Zuko hesitated. He had just narrowly avoided a conflict, and should be relieved. He was ill, had barely eaten all day, and was exhausted. If his latest episodes of embarrassment were anything to go by, he was hardly in top shape. But on the other hand, Zhao was acting like an outright criminal, and Zuko knew he would never be able to stop wondering why if he didn't follow him now. He couldn't afford to be in indecision; if he wanted to catch up to the quickly-disappearing pair, he would have to hurry.

He knew his decision was already made, but even Zuko wasn't impulsive enough to follow immediately, and risk being identified. He needed at least one item before he left the ship. Confident that he had remained unseen, Zuko snuck across the deck, staying low and silent, until he reached the commonway that led to his cabin. Even if he lost sight of Zhao… he was sure he would be able to find him again. At least the Spirits had given him that.

* * *

 

"So this is the great  _Avatar_ , master of all the elements. I don't know how you've managed to elude the Fire Nation for a hundred years, but your little game of hide and seek is over." His captor was practically purring with satisfaction, observing Aang coolly from the entrance of the prison.

Aang strained against the bonds that held him, unusual fury flooding through his limbs. He couldn't afford to be captured, not when Sokka was still sick and depending on him, not when Katara was waiting for him to return, not when she had expressly told him not to be caught- "I've never hidden from you," he spat. "Untie me and I'll fight you right now!"

The man before him smirked, his relaxed stance exuding confidence. "Uhh, no."

Aang growled through bared teeth. "What are you, some sort of coward?" If he could just get his hands free, one arm even…

The man actually looked amused at the commonplace bait. "Hardly, Avatar. Just someone with enough brains to know when they have the upper hand." With assured calm, he walked up to Aang, looking his thin, small frame up and down. He titled his head, gold eyes sharp. "Tell me," he murmured, putting his bearded face right up to Aang's. His breath was clean, bearing the faint scent of jasmine tea, but Aang still turned as far as he could while defiantly meeting the man's gaze. "How does it feel to be the only airbender left? Do you miss your people?"

Aang refused to look away.  _It's what he wants, Aang. He wants to see you defeated. He wants to see you subservient. You will not give in to his manipulations._

As if reading his mind, the man laughed once, a short bark. His expression turned to one of fake pity. "Oh, don't worry. You won't be killed, like they were."

Aang couldn't help the anger that crossed his expression, and though it should have been a warning, the satisfaction that crossed his captor's face only amplified it. "You see," the man said, voice quiet in the empty room, "if you die, you'll just be reborn, and the Fire Nation will have to begin its search for the Avatar all over again. So I'll keep you alive…." The man reached up, snatching Aang's jaw in a vice-like grip, tilting his face up until his neck was strained and he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. His captor was as smug as a lion-panther, pinning its prey by the tail. He leaned even closer, allowing the breath of his whispered words to wash over Aang's face. "…but just. _Barely._ "

The man dropped him with a flick of his wrist and stalked out, and Aang was too winded to even try to attack his receding form, letting his head hang as he caught his breath.

Aang thought back to the parchment tucked into the inside of his belt, the note that had to be the cause of this despicable circumstance. He had trusted that Iroh had sent it for him, considering that he had been the one to inform him of the Order of the White Lotus, and the same sign had been penned onto the note. Iroh had said the he could trust the Order, if he ever needed help. Gyatso's tile weighed heavy in one of the many pockets of his habit. He had  _stolen_  from his teacher's dead body, had taken one of his favorite possessions, on Iroh's word that it would come in handy.

_Well_ , he thought,  _this is how my trust is rewarded_. Aang bit back tears. Sokka, Roku, and even Katara had tried to warn him against blind belief in others. Sokka had tried to convince him that the people he met would be ruthless when it came to such a powerful bargaining chip as the Avatar; Roku had tried to steer him away from the Order; Katara had specifically suggested that the paper was a trap. He hadn't heeded any of them, and this was where it landed him.

Kuzon's face suddenly appeared before him as Aang fell into an old memory. " _Aang, no! Don't go in there!"_

_Seven-year-old Aang rolled his eyes. "You're being ridiculous, Kuzon! Why would anyone attack a child, especially a monk? We're pacifists. It'll be fine! Just you watch – and if I make a friend, you owe me your desert tonight!" Aang skipped past his friend's barring arms, happily bouncing through the doors of the dark bar._

_As soon as he stepped inside, the acrid stench of smoke and subtler, darker scents hit his nose, immediately making his eyes water. The doors thudded shut behind him, and for the first time Aang noticed that the windows had dark curtains nailed over them, and only thin streams of light made it through to swirl in the thick air. Three men at the nearest table stilled, setting down their flagons to peer at Aang with bloodshot eyes._

" _What's this?" one of them asked gruffly. "The little boy is crying? Does he miss his mommy?"_

_Aang straightened. He had a point to prove! "Actually, I don't have a mommy," he said, coming closer. He coughed a few times, but determined, turned a bright smile to the one who had spoken. "I just thought I might be able to make a new friend here."_

" _Aw, he's not frightened," another said, standing up and cracking his knuckles. "That's adorable."_

" _Why should I be frightened?" Aang asked, but he backed up a step despite himself. He swallowed, staring up into the man's face as he towered over him, eyes shadowed and dirty hair hanging in his face. "I've never done anything to you. You have no reason to hurt me!"_

" _For some people, son, the pleasure is reason enough," the man said, stepping closer. His face broke into a crooked smile, and Aang noticed some of his teeth were missing. "I think I'll enjoy this one."_

" _Get back!" Kuzon screamed, leaping in front of Aang with his arms spread wide. He stared up at the Fire Nation man, shaking with fear, lower lip trembling, but jaw set. The door thudded shut once more, as Kuzon swallowed forcefully. "Don't touch him."_

_The man paused, but took an obedient step back. "Lord Kuzon… what's he to you? This little airbender wimp doesn't know anything." The man's expression darkened as he looked over Aang's small body. "He thinks he's better than all of us. You can see it in his cheeky smile, his Windbrain eyes. He ought to be taught a lesson."_

" _I said," Kuzon repeated, voice quivering, "don't touch him. He's my friend."_

_The man scoffed. "Make him leave, then."_

_Aang was sniffling when Kuzon led him back to the estate silently. Finally, he reached for his friend's hand, pulling on it to get his attention. Kuzon stopped, whirling to pin him with an exasperated look, straight from his father's face. "What?"_

" _Why'd he want to hurt me?" Aang stared up at the older boy, confusion written in every inch of his expression._

_Kuzon's eyes softened, and he pulled Aang into a tight hug. "I don't know, buddy. But Mother always tells me to be afraid of strangers. You never know what they can do. She says, 'It's a dangerous world, Kuzon. Be careful.' You'll be careful now, won't you, Aang?"_

_Aang had nodded against Kuzon's shoulder, and held his hand the whole way back. "Just stick with me," Kuzon had ordered, allowing a hint of warm pride to sneak into his tone. "The people of this Province are loyal to me and Father. I'll protect you."_

Aang's head snapped up as his memory was interrupted by thuds echoing against the prison door. He listened with trepidation as the lock turned over, not sure what he was expecting and still trying to prepare himself for what would come. What did the Fire Nation do to prisoners at this time of night? Torture them? Feed them?

...confront them with grinning blue masks and dual swords? The intruder ran up to him, footsteps almost silent on the tile floor, and Aang cleared his throat as he drew near, trying to swallow his fear. The man stopped before him, swords hanging, and Aang could only think about how a masked man would make for an excellent interrogator, or torturer, someone to keep him  _just barely alive..._

He banished his thoughts and summoned some strength to his voice, challenging the blank, imposing stare fixed on him. "Who are you? What's going on?"

The mask tilted, but instead of answering, the intruder cut the bonds holding his arms. Aang stared at his hands in mute shock, rubbing the raw marks left by the chains, before looking up at his liberator. "Are you here to rescue me?" he asked, barely daring to hope. The masked man silently cut his remaining bonds before staring at him, then nodding swiftly. He motioned for Aang to follow him and ran back to the open door. Aang stayed where he was, unsure. Trusting strangers was what had gotten him into this mess. He could  _not_  fall for this  _again._  This was just another trap, just another plot….

Still hovering in the doorway, the masked man held out his arms, obviously annoyed and questioning. Aang hesitated another moment before shaking his head and running after him, using airbending to soften his footfalls.  _If anything,_  he allowed,  _it can't be worse than here._  He buried the strange feeling that his friends would be disappointed in him, and focused only on running after the man with the mask.

* * *

 

Out of the entire situation, Zuko found himself most grateful that Aang was light on his feet, and for once, had shut the hell up. They crept through the sewage as the night sky grew darker above them, keeping their back to the wall. Though Zuko tried to believe that the decision was based entirely on needing to stay out of sight from above, he knew that the solid brick was support he was happy to have. He stifled a yawn that tried to signal his exhaustion, forcing himself to take deeper breaths as his vision blurred at the edges from more than just the mask.

From Zuko's brief survey of Pohuai, he knew the sewage tunnel they were trekking ended at a small culvert on the eastern wall. It was a disappointingly mundane escape plan, but effective enough, and he didn't have the time or energy to concoct anything more original. The only difficulties he anticipated would come once they left the sewers; it was a long run across an open field to make it to the woods, and where the Yu Yan were involved, that could easily spell out suicide. If Zuko was right about Zhao, the newly-promoted Admiral would visit the Avatar's chambers after his glowing speech, intending to gloat to his heart's desire before sneaking back to Zuko's entourage. By his estimations, it wouldn't be long until Aang's absence was noticed and the alarm was raised. They didn't have much time… Zuko paused, letting his eyes close briefly as he steadied himself against the wall with one hand.

_One step at a time, Zuko,_  he chided. The sound of running water and syncopated drops against the stone soothed him as he forced his muscles to relax.  _Just focus on getting the Avatar out alive._

Ahead, the tunnel branched. Zuko drew up to the corner, waving for the Avatar to stop. Aang obediently halted, pressing himself against the bricks and watching him, his young face unusually expressionless. Zuko looked down both forks, chewing his lower lip in consternation, before clenching his hand into a fist and forcing himself to think.  _Which way is out? This is… water, of a sort._ He felt it pull against his legs, the current almost nonexistent-

Of course. Looking down, he noted the flow of the current, checked that there were no revealing grates above them, and turned left. He was several feet down the passage before his ears registered the difference, and he buried an exasperated sigh as he doubled back and gestured for Aang to follow him once more.

"But look," Aang whispered, still hanging back. Zuko whirled, a finger over the mask's bared lips, and immediately regretted the sudden motion as the dark underground world spun briefly. Aang rolled his eyes and pointed - once more silenced - behind Zuko. Turning more slowly, Zuko noticed the culvert at the end of the tunnel, a tiny opening barely letting a low glow of moonlight spread through the otherwise-enclosed section. Zuko shrugged, confused why the means of their escape would give the Avatar pause. Jogging as quietly as he could, he drew up to the metal bars and began digging his fingers into their sockets, searching for a corroded weak link.

Aang appeared at his shoulder, watched him for a moment, and then measured the gap between the bars with his hands. Zuko stopped to give him a stare that hopefully conveyed his sheer annoyance before shaking his head. The Fire Nation may forget to guard against water's strength, but they would never build a stronghold with any gap large enough for a human to fit through, other than a heavily guarded gate or locked door.

A full minute later, he leaned back with a growl, having found no imperfections in any of the bars. Just to be sure, he kicked each of them under the water, resulting only in a throbbing toe and frustration.

Obviously, the servants here were not so quick to overlook their maintenance responsibilities as those employed by the Fire Nation palace.

_Come on,_ Zuko silently ordered, motioning for Aang as he ran back up the tunnel, still sticking to the edges. Aang jogged after him, doubt beginning to cloud his face, which Zuko steadfastly pretended not to see. Zuko turned right at the juncture, heading back up the way they had come, until he reached the closest grate leading aboveground. Aang kept to the walls without being told, showing a surprising amount of self-preservation skills, as Zuko slowly lifted his head to look around them. A few guards wandered by, but from what he could tell, the alarm had yet to be raised.

Knowing that his luck rarely held out this long, Zuko looked at Aang sharply and pointed up. The monk nodded, and without waiting for him to follow Zuko pulled himself out of the sewer and ran across the open ground. They had to be in the outermost level of the stronghold, if they were so close to the culvert - meaning they only had one wall to scale.

Zuko shook his arms as he pulled the rope from his bag, wishing that the simple pull-up he had just performed hadn't hurt as much as it had – signaling that what he was about to do would put him in a world of hurt. He cast a glance over his shoulder, checked that Aang was with him, and made to tie the knot in the rope, when he was interrupted by a gentle touch on his arm.

"Uh, don't you think we could walk out the gate?" Aang whispered, gesturing with his head.

Zuko looked over the boy's shoulder, noticed the open gate, and would have willingly slammed his throbbing head against the stronghold's brick wall for his stupidity – if Zhao hadn't chosen that exact moment to scream, "There! The Avatar has escaped! Close the gate!"

"Okay, stay close to me!" Aang yelled, throwing silence to the wind and making a beeline for the gate. Zuko abandoned the rope to draw his swords and run after him, feeling his heart thudding in his chest and blinking hard to bring Aang into focus. He could feel the sweat on his forehead as his mask rubbed it into his skin, warm and clammy.  _Pull yourself together, Zuko. You need to get out of here-_

Lightning clawed its way through his chest, sending Zuko sprawling to the ground with a ragged scream as he felt his lungs tear apart with the pain. He saw the pointed ends of Fire Nation boots surround him and could feel the soldiers gather their chi to attack, when suddenly, all he could here was the roar of wind.

"Get up!" Aang yelled, and it was by sheer adrenaline that Zuko propelled himself to his feet and tightened his grip on his dao swords, swallowing hard as Aang hissed with the effort of maintaining their protective shield.

_How are we getting out of this? Think, Zuko, think!_ The Prince sucked in air through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the flash of pain in his arm and the way it still twitched as though electrocuted.  _Plan something, dammit! Be like Azula!_

"Hold your fire! The Avatar must be captured alive!"

Immediately, the soldier's fires disappeared, and Aang let his arms fall cautiously. With a surge of inspiration, Zuko seized the only chance he knew he had.

* * *

 

As the dao swords crossed over his throat, Aang realized that he ought to start learning from his mistakes.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, feeling the edge of the metal blades against his Adam's apple. The pressure increased: a warning to stop talking. Aang complied bitterly, raising his hands in a sign of surrender. The Fire Nation guards waited, still poised to strike, and Aang wished he had the time and air to rant at his 'rescuer' properly. The words being exchanged in front of him were buried by his flare of indignant anger. He had jumped in front of the masked man without a second's hesitation, expending precious effort to spin away the flames that had been aimed at him, and  _this is how he was repaid?_

Suddenly, Aang heard the grinding of gears as the gate behind him opened outwards. His captor started backing towards the escape route, taking each step one at a time with Aang caged behind his deadly blades. As they inched down the road, their progress unhindered by the soldiers that stayed rooted to their spots, Aang let his gaze wander over the outer wall. He noted what appeared to be two officers, gathered over the gate to watch their retreat. One held up his hand, as if waiting to give an order. Aang put it together in a flash of fear.

"They'll shoot us, you know," he quipped. The blades tightened, but Aang continued anyway, fueled by frustration. "I'm not lying, you idiot. How do you think they managed to capture me? They have archers who could hit your eye from the outer wall. I bet they  _will_  hit your eye. See them up there? Just to the right of the gate?"

The masked man just grunted roughly and kept walking, his unsteady breathing muffled by his mask. Aang tried not to stumble, knowing the consequences of such would be less than forgiving to his throat, but out of some misplaced gratitude still avoided stepping on the masked man's feet. He cleared his throat and kept whispering hoarsely. "I'm sure you can see them. We're not going to make it to the trees before they attack."

They took another few steps, his kidnapper still refusing to speak, and the agony of waiting for the high whistle of an arrow grew unbearable. "Look," Aang wheezed, "is this what you wanted all along? To take me prisoner? Because if so, you are a  _despicable coward_ , making me help and defend you, making me think you were my friend-"

As expected, the sharp note of the arrow was almost too quick to notice, followed by an almost musical ring of impact with the man's mask. The dao swords lifted from his throat, and Aang drew in several deep breaths before he even realized the body had hit the road. Turning to see the soldiers rushing out of the stronghold's gates, he closed his eyes and airbent as much cover as he could. In the precious seconds he had bought, he stared down at the body, knowing he didn't have much time to make a choice, whatever it was going to be. When he heard footsteps, he shook his head and sighed at himself, but knelt down beside his rescuer-turned-captor.

"Oh, monkeyfeathers. I'm never going to learn." He shouldered the man carefully, adjusted his weight, and ran.

* * *

 

"Come on, Zuko. Tea. Wake up. It's time for tea."

Zuko shifted, listening to the birds overhead. They were even louder than he remembered them being the previous morning, and there were certainly no scratchy sheets covering him this time….

The previous night came back in a flash, and Zuko jerked awake, scrambling blindly for his dao swords. Aang hopped out of reach, his eyes focused on the tea in his hand and trying not to spill it. "Now, now," he admonished, raising his head to smile at Zuko. "This tea is supposedly healing, you know. Although if it's not, I would rather see the effects on you than Sokka." He waited for Zuko to say something, and when the Prince didn't respond, he held out the steaming wooden cup expectedly.

"Where," Zuko croaked, not moving to accept it, "did you find  _cups_  out here?"

Aang just smiled, slightly lopsidedly, and set the cup on the ground before backing away. "Consider it thanks for saving me last night," he said, evading the question. "I understand why you did what you did. I'm sorry for… what I said, before you were knocked out."

Zuko watched his every move carefully, noting how Aang maneuvered himself under a thick bough of the closest tree, arms slightly tensed at his side as though he was prepared to defend against an attack. Zuko almost laughed – he didn't feel like attacking anything just now, though he supposed he would rather die trying to capture the Avatar than pass up an opportunity like this. He flexed his knuckles surreptitiously. Aang's eyes flickered to his hand, catching the movement, before refocusing on his face.

The monk looked almost sorry.

"You know," he continued, as if he was venturing into dangerous territory, "when I was locked up in there, the commander asked me if I missed my people." Aang's silver eyes clouded with the memory, and Zuko couldn't deny that he felt a flash of pity for the boy, knowing  _exactly_  how Zhao could use words like daggers and to make the most painful wounds. "The funny thing is," Aang said, head ducked, "it's not  _my_ people that I miss the most. My best friend Kuzon… I miss spending time with him. And he was Fire Nation, just like you."

Their eyes met across the clearing, silver to gold.

"I couldn't help but wonder... if we knew each other back then," Aang whispered, and the Prince could feel him  _searching_ for the answer in Zuko's face, "do you think we could have been friends too?"

Zuko gathered the strength to clear his throat, cocking back one hand in preparation for a punch. "I would leave, Avatar," he murmured, and a moment later, shot to his feet. He opened his hand, intending to let what meager fire he could manage fly from his knuckles, only for white-hot lightning to race from his fingertips and crack through the air.

Zuko sank to his knees, shocked at himself, and watched the monk nimbly leap away through the treetops. He knew that Aang couldn't have survived that… that sort of  _powerful_  attack, had he not leaped out of the way when Zuko had warned him. And as he watched him disappear, Zuko  _refused_  to feel relieved that he had given a warning. He stared at his hand, then experimentally flexed the fingers. When nothing happened, he rolled his shoulders, surprised to find that his muscles were much more relaxed than they had been. He clambered to his feet and stretched his sides, pleased that they were no longer aching. Bending, he scooped up the cup of tea, sniffed it suspiciously, and sipped at it, smiling tiredly as he made his way back towards his ship.

Oddly, he felt better than he had ten minutes ago, or a few hours ago. He had failed to capture the Avatar – but at least, on this lovely morning, so had Zhao.

* * *

 

Zhao jumped off the cart and stalked towards Zuko's ship without so much as a wave of gratitude to his subordinate officer, ignoring all of the banished Prince's criminal crew as he strode down the commonway to his quarters.

"Zuko, the Avatar is long gone, and I am  _quite tired_  of your endless delays! Here I thought you wanted  _speedy_ passage to the North Pole! Now, if you're ship is not ready to depart in ten minutes, I will give up on this infuriating favor."

Zhao was aware that, having barged into the Prince's quarter while tired and furious, he wasn't the picture of professionalism. That did not mean he would stand for the Prince continuing to lie in bed while he spoke to him. Snarling, he crossed the room in a few quick steps and yanked away the bed covers.

"Look at me, you despicable chil-!"

Two pillows were all that was revealed. Instantly silenced, Zhao stepped back, eyes flitting over the cabin for any sign of a struggle. He would hardly be surprised if the good-for-nothing Prince had been kidnapped, hopefully to be tortured, or murdered… or both. Any self-respecting Fire Nation citizen would be more than willing to do the job, not to mention the other nations. For a sixteen-year-old, the royal's enemies far outweighed his friends - and it wasn't as if Zuko had been in any shape to defend himself for the past day. Still, nothing seemed out of place in the cabin. It was as the boy had just left…

His gaze landed on the empty hooks hanging over the Prince's footlocker, and he scrolled through his memory until he could envision dual dao swords crossed over them.

It only took a moment for everything to click into place.

"Well, well, well." Zhao muttered, carefully replacing the sheets before backing out of the room with a triumphant smirk. "The wayward Prince is a thief  _and_  a traitor. What magnificent news."


	23. Loveless Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those of you who are worried about the story dancing mainly around canon? Don't worry, that will change pretty soon.

The air was cold when there were no words to heat it. Still, Aang wasn’t sure the alternative was preferable.

Needless to say, Katara was furious with him. Aang couldn’t even blame her; he had promised not to stay out late and make her worry that he had been captured, and yet had somehow managed all three. Not that he’d told her about his escapade as a prisoner. He got the feeling Katara wouldn’t appreciate hearing that he’d saved Zuko from imprisonment and death, carried him to safety, and stayed by him to make him healing tea. Of course, coming back in the morning with ‘extra essence of tea’ and a sheepish smile had landed him fury and silence.

Aang let out a deep breath, surprised that he was upset enough to feel the cold. He felt awful for hiding the truth from Katara, but what could he do? He couldn’t take back what he had done. Except for leaving the inn against her warnings in the first place, he couldn’t even regret it. What was the alternative? Leaving Zuko there to die?

Aang squirmed uncomfortably, fighting the feeling that Katara would have done precisely that. _The Fire Nation killed my mother. I will never be happy until the people responsible for her death are in prison._ He took in the sight of her, outlined by the not-quite-full moon at her post on Appa’s head, ebony hair glistening in the platinum light. She probably meant that, he knew. She wasn’t like him or Gyatso or the other airbenders. How the Water Tribes managed to keep any morals when they didn’t believe in peace and forgiveness, Aang couldn’t say.

Sokka coughed lightly and turned in his sleep, and Aang shook himself out of his thoughts. He uncrossed his arms and pulled his knees away from his chest, crawling towards the warrior. Katara shifted marginally at the sound, but didn’t bother to turn. Aang settled in closer to Sokka, hoping that it would take less focus to keep their bodies warm that way.

It hadn’t really been his choice to move the still-sick Sokka, knowing just how freezing the air could get, especially now that they were journeying deeper into Northern territory. But Katara had bundled up her brother in parkas and furs before Aang even returned in the morning, and all of their supplies packed in travelling rolls at the foot of the bed. The message was clear: _We are leaving. Now._ So, they had trundled out of the inn’s back door as quickly as possible, hoods down and Sokka mostly-carried between the two of them, catching a ride out of town with a passing Green cart. At a safe distance, Aang had called Appa, and they had resumed their journey to the North Pole. If all went well – _if,_ Aang mentally stressed, as the universe obviously had other ideas – he anticipated that they would reach the city walls before morning.

He hoped, for all of their sakes, that there wouldn’t be any more obstacles. After almost eighteen hours of flying and air-shielding three bodies, Katara and Aang were both exhausted, and Sokka had yet to snap out of his delirious state. (Katara was unaware that Aang was keeping her warm as well, probably because she was too far away and Aang was too tired for him to do an exceptional job of it… but he was trying.)

“Is he alright?”

The three simple words shattered the icy quiet that had stood between them, Aang’s head snapping up from where it had come to rest on his forearms. His grey eyes stared into the back of her head, breathless at the hint of mercy, before shifting to her brother. His face was turned away from Aang, but there was a thin sheer of sweat along his hairline. Aang flicked a finger and sent the droplets flying off his skin, immediately focusing on warming it once more. He stifled a rebellious cough that tried to escape him. “He will be,” he replied, quietly.

Katara didn’t say anything, and Aang’s gaze drifted back to her, concern and guilt gnawing incessantly at his gut.  

“I promise, Katara, we’ll get him to a blazing fire and a feast and the best healers in the world – just a few more hours,” Aang added, as earnestly as he could. “Just stay strong, for him. I’ll keep him warm until then, I promise.”

“Yeah, okay,” Katara muttered, with a hint of anger in her voice. Her back was still ramrod straight, empty of forgiveness. “You _promise._ ”

She fell silent once more, and Aang couldn’t think of any way to reply through the shame that choked his words. Instead, he closed his eyes and focused. He envisioned a warm summer breeze drifting down from the temple orchards, sweet with the scent of ripening fruits, and wrapping its adoring hands around the two siblings, brushing their dark bare skin with temperate kisses.

* * *

They passed the knife to their other hand, rubbed their wrapped hand on their trousers to wipe off the sweat, and passed it back. Its tip was curved, enough to wedge behind the door latch and still use the length of the blade to lever it open. They knew the Prince kept his cabin door obsessively well-oiled, so all of his secret escapades would go unnoticed by his crew, but they still held their breath as it swung open silently.

_“Zuko is as paranoid as a kingpin with a court reputation, Zhao. You can’t think that I’ll get away with this.”_

_“Zuko has had dealings with pirates, hasn’t he?”_

_“Yes, I made Princess Azula aware of that fact years ago-”_

_“Did he ever shortchange them?”_

Zuko was on his cot, sleeping on his right side, blankets pulled up to his neck. They paused despite themselves, taken aback by being face to face with his victim. Even with the jagged scar dominated the portion of it they could see, the Prince looked peaceful, his normally creased brow smooth with the ease of sleep.

_“Who would believe the Prince had dealings with Pirates? I only know because I spied on him! Everyone else knows how much the Royal Family detests the thieving sea-rats.”_

_“Come now, it’s not so far from reason. Zuko is a well-known traitor and thief himself; with the proof that he is the Blue Spirit, no one will so much as question your story.”_

_They pounded their fist on the side of the ship, making a dull metal ring that would have caused alarm, if anyone had been on the far side of the dock to hear it. Their voice was vehement when they could finally speak. “I’m tired of swallowing your orders, Zhao. Zuko is not a traitor. In fact, you’re the one plotting the murder of the Crown Prince!”_

_“Ex-Crown Prince, you useless coward.” The fire that spread from his knuckles was barely visible, the neat blue cones of the best kitchens in the Fire Nation. “And don’t ever insinuate that I would betray my country like that simpering whelp has done over and over. You’ll regret the implications.”_

They drew up to the Prince’s bedside, the pirate knife held loosely in one hand.

_“Besides, you’re the one who will be committing the act of treason, aren’t you? And just think… as soon as you finish this task, you won’t ever have to take my orders again. Or Azula’s, for that matter.”_

A choked sound escaped their lips, which may have been a sob, or may have been the strangled kin of a war cry, as they wrenched their arm upwards to bury the serrated blade in Zuko’s skull.

* * *

Zuko barely registered the sound, brushing against the foggy borders of his unconscious.

Of course, when his body had been trained to react to the slightest patter of a young girl’s night slippers, that sound had Zuko on his feet in half a second, pinning the assassin to the wall. A blaze of fiery pain sharpened his vision, drawing him completely into reality, and his brilliant gold eyes focused on the same blank, black mask that had appeared in his room a dozen times over the years. A low growl escaped his throat.

“You assassins are all the same,” he hissed, pressing one forearm against the figure’s throat and holding its wrist in his other hand, though they had dropped their weapon with Zuko’s first movement. He let his eyes sweep downwards quickly, absorbing as much information as could in the moment he dared to spare. _Male, medium-build, Fire Nation, oh good, his feet are still on the ground._ Uncaring of further details, Zuko released the attempted-murderer’s arm to pull the offensively plain mask off their face in one contemptuous movement.

The figure crumpled to the ground, unheld by Zuko’s restraining arm when the Prince leapt backwards as though physically stung. The apology was barely recognizable in bitten-back cry that escaped the man on the cold metal floor. For a moment, the sound of broken, half-intelligible excuses was all that filled the cabin. Zuko raised a fist to clamp between his teeth, furiously blinking away tears and shaking his head, and the next moment, aimed a hard kick at the man’s exposed ribs.

“How?” Zuko growled, not removing his hand. He feared that if he did, he would shout, and soon the whole ship would see him like this, crying over a _traitor,_ someone who would have _killed him_ after- “Three years of what? _Friendship_?” He coupled the word with another savage blow, sending the man hurtling against his cot, his skull cracking against the metal frame and eliciting a low groan. Zuko spun around to erase the picture, viciously kicking the knife until it spun out of reach near the opposite wall. His shoulders shook with the effort of breathing. “I don’t… I don’t _understand,_ Izo, could you _please explain this to me?!”_

He whirled to face the helmsman, but Izo had buried his face in his hands, shaking his head fervently. Zuko strode to his side and knelt beside him, digging his fingers into his hair, yanking back his head, forcing their eyes to meet. He opened his mouth to scream something, to beg for the answers his mind was desperately fumbling for, but found he couldn’t say a word.

“Azula ordered me to be your friend,” Izo whimpered into the loveless silence, wide eyes piercing straight into his, not caught by the distracting red scar or the tears that hung on his jawline. “I was supposed to gain your trust, to report your actions back to her, so she could keep an eye on you.” His startled gaze was as earnest as a brother, or a cousin, promising to return from war. “I didn’t know she meant you harm! I thought she was a concerned sister!”

Zuko snarled and shoved Izo’s head into his knees as he stood. His eyes begged to be believed, and Zuko couldn’t stand it. “You couldn’t have!” he spat cruelly, hands sizzling uncontrollably at his sides. “How did you justify it to yourself? ‘Azula wants me to murder Zuko, why, she must love him so much she wants to put the poor useless failure out of his misery’? You can’t hold a knife over my face and say you mean me no harm!”

“I didn’t-”

“Gain my trust, is that what you wanted?” Zuko barreled on, cutting Izo off with an abrupt motion that sent an arc of uncalled-for fire spinning away from him. “I can’t- I don’t even- And you succeeded, Izo, you had my trust, you had my lo-” Zuko bit his lip so hard it bled and closed his eyes, blocking out the black spots of rage and disbelief spinning in his vision. His face pinched as a sob shoved its way up his throat. “How-!”

“Orders, orders, following orders,” Izo muttered, almost chanting to himself, head cradled in his hands once more.

“You’ve never followed a single fucking order from me in your miserable life!” Zuko yelled, bending so his face could be closer to the traitor’s. “It’s a lie, your whole line about Azula. She doesn’t deal with worthless peasants like you!” He reached over Izo’s head to knock a fist against the wall with each syllable, repeating, “It’s a lie!” He blinked away tears that blurred his vision. _“Like every other word you’ve ever said to me._ ”

Izo pushed himself against the wall further, wedging his lithe frame between it and the Prince’s cot. His expression was divided equally between self-loathing, terror, and soul-crushing guilt as he stared up at the victim that had cornered him. “Zuko, please-”

“Please? _Please?_ You would appeal to me? You would ask me to _spare_ you?” He raised the back of one hand to violently swipe away his tears, his whole body racked with sobs. His knuckles brushed against the tough, uneven skin of his scar, coming back with a line of blood, and Zuko bit back a wave of nausea. His Agni Kai flashed before his eyes, waking up empty and alone in the hospital wing, three years of befriending the easy, smiling helmsman, searing lightning that charred every nerve it consumed on its path to his heart, but it was fine because _Izo was safe…_ He choked down the bitter bile that rose in his throat, pushing himself away from the wall. He turned back, caught in a flurry of emotions at the sight of Izo crammed into the corner. “I ought to burn you, you… you son of a bitch!” he coughed out, with more passion than he could remember using in recent months. “Burn you like the disrespectful traitor you are!”

The shock that painted Izo’s face was painfully satisfying, and another image bloomed in his vision, one of his young sister grinning in the stands of the courtyard as white-hot flames blasted towards a boy’s face. They were pawns, both of them, and useless ones at that. Zuko grimaced and let a weak flame dance in the palm of one hand, dangerous and comforting. “I bet Azula would smile to see a scar on your face too.”

Zuko hated the way the words burned his lips as they passed, but they felt they were some of the truest he’d ever said.

It didn’t stop him from rocketing forward to catch Izo by the shoulders when the helmsman lunged towards the knife, calloused fingers barely touching its hilt as Zuko blocked his path. The Prince let his sharp nails dig into Izo’s skin, holding the helmsman in place as he searched his face, heart pounding painfully against his ribcage. This was what it was like, he thought, to be a crow-cat with a kangaroo-mouse beneath its paw. Izo didn’t meet his eyes. Zuko reasoned out his erratic action faster than he would have liked, and scowled despite himself. He knew too well what the thought of Azula could drive you to, the realization that she would relish in every moment of your anguish and still cradle your wounds with a sympathetic face.

“Oh no,” Zuko whispered, his voice as harsh as grinding steel on steel. “No, you won’t get out of this so easily. I ought to send you back to her myself.” The horror in Izo’s eyes as he lurched to look at him was sickeningly sweet, driving Zuko on. His grip tightened. “It would be such a statement, wouldn’t it, one that might finally gain me some respect in her eyes. ‘Look, dearest sister. I found something of yours on my ship, and thought I might return it.” His voice twisted with brutality and he leaned over to pick up the knife with one hand. “’Unfortunately, I think it may have gotten a bit damaged on the return journey’.”

Izo wailed and tried to wrench out of Zuko’s grip, but the Prince had always been stronger, and managed to hold him in place with one arm, shaking him until Izo raised his apprehensive eyes to meet Zuko’s once more. It wasn’t until Zuko saw the smoke that he realized his fingertips were burning through Izo’s clothes, and he quickly let out a breath to calm the fire. Izo’s frantic breathing steadied slightly as the heat faded, though his nostrils still flared like a rabbit-buck waiting to bolt as soon as the opportunity came, and he didn’t take his eyes off the Prince’s face. Zuko watched the change clinically and looked at the singed holes he had made during the dark hurricane of his fury. Carefully, he lifted himself to his feet, pulling the helmsman with him.

“You don’t deserve those burns,” he said, his soft voice reverberating in the sudden stillness of the tiny metal cabin. Izo opened his mouth, presumably to protest, and Zuko shoved him forward, steering him before him, towards the door, up the stairs. “You deserve much worse than that, Izo.”  

“Don’t do this, Zuko,” Izo gasped, but he hung his head in submission anyway. “Don’t be like your sister. I would have granted you a quick, clean death, if I had managed to make myself at all. Please, if you valued my life at all, please give me the same courtesy.”

Zuko felt fresh pain stab in his heart at the words. “Trust me,” he growled, shoving the helmsman harder than was strictly necessary, “I am nothing like my sister. She would have taken your excuses and piled them as a wall before her lies, and dressed your petty pain with understanding and forgiveness and honeyed, pretty words. You’ll have no forgiveness – fake or otherwise – from me.”

Izo didn’t say anything in reply, and Zuko finally propelled him onto the ship’s open deck, the cold night air settling in immediately and making their breath come in frosty waves. Zuko pushed Izo to the right, away from where Zhao’s ship was anchored across the harbor, until they stood a foot from the guardrail. Far below, their reflections rippled as the tide lapped at the shore.

“Look,” Zuko breathed, voice low and hoarse with suffering, reaching up to grab the back of Izo’s head and control his gaze. “Look at your reflection.”

Izo’s face twisted with something like disgust, and he turned away. Zuko pushed him against the rail and released him, holding the knife before him. Izo saw the reflection of the blade in the water and shut his eyes. He breathed out slowly, shoulders hunched. Wildly, Zuko sliced down.

The blood didn’t well on his palm for a moment, long enough for Izo to open his eyes and brace himself against the rail as he exhaled before turning to Zuko, plaintive relief written all over his face. Wordlessly, Zuko watched the blood begin to pool, flexing his fingers to encourage it. Izo didn’t dare to comment, but Zuko saw his eyebrows twitch in consternation at the sight. Finally, Zuko stepped forward, reached up, and smeared his bloodied hand across his helmsman’s face. Izo made a small noise and turned away, closing his eye, but Zuko grabbed his shoulder roughly and forced him to look over the railing once more.

“There, Helmsman,” he hissed, shoving Izo against the rail. “Look again.”

Zuko’s blood marked a sinister, shimmering wound over Izo’s left eye, reflected by the moon and the waves. Izo stilled, his hands tightening against the guardrail until his knuckles turned white. His face was paler than usual, but, Zuko thought, it may have just been the starlight. Zuko pulled away and stepped back, cradling his injured palm in his other hand and ignoring the dull, throbbing pain.

“You will wash that stain off your face, and this cut on my hand will heal, Helmsman,” Zuko muttered. He wanted to yell the words, or to say them like Azula might, up close and dripping with the venom he wished he could convey. But he couldn’t find the energy. Zuko could barely think straight enough to string a few threatening words together, he felt so heavy, empty, tired. His brain refused to process the thought that Izo – sunny, smiling Izo – was standing before him, marked like his father had marked him, because he had tried to _kill_ him. Still, he knew his brain would manage it eventually. He knew that any trust he had for the man, as soon as he worked through the events of the evening over a cup of tea, had gone up in smoke.

Whatever bond they had held, it was gone.

“But,” Zuko continued, lifting his gaze to meet Izo’s, trying to imbue it with anguish where he lacked intimidation and guilt where he lacked fear, “but now, there will always be a scar. On the both of us.”

Izo really looked at Zuko’s face for the first time that night, eyes focusing on Zuko’s old, angry disfigurement, his hand, and finally, turning his back, his own reflection in the water below. Several seconds passed, the quiet murmur of waves lapping on the beach filling the space between them.

“You are just like your sister,” he choked out, shoulders shaking. “This is cruelty of a unique brand. You could have just killed me. Anyone else would have killed me.”

“Perhaps we have more in common than any of us realized,” Zuko acknowledged bitterly, stepping behind the Helmsman quietly. “We are related, after all. And simply, Helmsman, I couldn’t kill you. You may still be of use to me.”

Without warning, he grabbed Izo in a rough hold and threw him overboard, listening to the splash far below with vindictive pleasure. He leaned over the railing, forcing his mouth into a small, grim smile at the sight of the Helmsman spluttering in the harbor. Izo glaring up at him was almost funny, given the situation, though the crimson liquid running down his face and spreading across the surface lessened the effect.

“Look at that,” he called softly. “Most of the blood is already gone. Maybe you should go tell Zhao that I’m dead.”

“I hate you, Zuko,” Izo called back up, his voice filled with something like relief, and possibly, a hint of laughter.

Zuko scowled. The man was supposed to be suffering, not indulging himself in a forgiveness he hadn’t earned. “So you’ll be going, then?” he added, not quite a suggestion.

Izo started swimming towards shore, but stopped before he reached the bow of the anchored ship, spinning around once more. “My apologies, Sir…” he ventured. “I’m on my way.”

Zuko felt something in his heart twist at the familiar lilt of the words, and he rashly hurled the knife down after him, vindictively pleased that Izo had to dodge it the pointed end with a small yipe. “Learn the meaning of respect, Helmsman,” he spat, turning and taking a deep breath.

It was the second time he had spoken the phrase, hoping he might be able to pull it out of his nightmares and reclaim it as his own. Yet, this time even more than before, it felt like his nightmares were pulling _him_ in. Zuko blinked back tears and exhaustion and pushed all thoughts of the Helmsman from his mind. He fought the urge to massage his temples and made his way back to his cabin with his hands clasped together, stifling the flow of hot blood.

* * *

The man that emerged from the room knew he looked startled, his hair disheveled and parkas wrinkled, but his eyes were wide awake. He took in the sight of the party outside his door – a young monk, almost blocking two teenagers from view. One was lying on the floor, wrapped in Water Tribe furs, and the other was kneeling beside him, wearing a blue fur parka. His eyes returned to the monk, narrowing as he looked him up and down.

“Avatar Aang,” he said, repeating the name he had been told moments ago. He held out a calloused hand, offering a warm smile with it. The boy clasped it in a childishly strong grip, returning his beam, though his face betrayed how harried and weary he was. Chief Arnook reminded himself to keep the introduction short, for both their sakes. “It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Avatar. I trust you don’t come on a leisurely trip in these times of trouble?”

“No,” the monk answered, shifting on his feet and not quite meeting his eyes. He looked at the unmoving boy behind him for a moment, caught himself, and turned back to Arnook with a cough and elaboration. “My friend here has a cold and needs to rest and recover, and his sister and I need to learn waterbending.” He trailed off, until the girl behind him shifted her foot to nudge his heel, scowling at him when he glanced at her in surprise. Arnook hid a smile at their antics, as she raised her eyebrows meaningfully and the Avatar hurried to add, “If your… Cheifship? would permit us to stay and learn from one of the Masters, that is.”

The girl nodded marginally, and the Avatar seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. A cold breeze ruffled Arnook’s robes, which helped to cover the shake of his shoulders as he swallowed a chuckle. He crossed his arms over his chest to keep it warm. A glance up confirmed that the night was nearly halfway over. “It would be my privilege to host you as long as you see fit, Avatar,” he replied easily. The girl hid a yawn behind her hand, and Arnook shifted to better see her face, leaning around Aang slightly. “What is your name, little lady?” he asked.

The exhaustion was plain on her face when she faced him, but he could tell she was pretty for a girl her age, and the startling blue of her eyes confirmed his suspicions that the siblings were from the Water Tribe. She stood gracefully, wiping of her knees in a quietly self-conscious motion. “I am Katara, Chief, and this-” she motioned to the body beside her, “is my brother Sokka.” Her expression turned sour. “He just has a fever, but he’s always been quick to get weak when he’s sick. He should be fine in a few days.” She shot him another pitiless, almost angry glance, huffing under her breath as though his very image offended her.

Arnook nodded, drinking in the sight. He couldn’t help but envision Yue, glaring down at an older brother, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes with annoyance. He deliberately spoke to shake himself out of the fantasy, focusing his gaze on the girl once more, and her dark hair, blue eyes, so different from his own daughter. “I will have my guards take him to the healing wards now,” he said, gesturing to the two men that flanked his door. They moved forward obediently, waterbending the snow beneath the boy upwards a few feet and pulling it alongside them with open hands as they hurried away. Katara watched them go with worry plain in her face, but didn’t move to follow. “Don’t fret over your brother, dear,” Arnook assured her. He covered a yawn of his own behind one hand. “It will be the perfect place for him to recover. You can go see him first thing tomorrow, if you so wish. But for now, I think we should all get to sleep.” He clasped his hands together before him, beaming at the two – he couldn’t help but think of them as such – children before him. He ran his mind through any formalities that he had missed, protocol running together in the early hours of the morning. “Ah! A feast will be held in your honor tomorrow at dusk. The people will be overjoyed to hear that the rumors of your return were not exaggerated, Avatar,” he stated, and nodded with satisfied finality.

Aang looked horrified. “Rumors,” he muttered.

“Brilliant,” the girl added, glaring at the back of his head.

Arnook laughed, since it was simpler than initiating a more serious conversation in that moment. He bowed slightly in Aang’s direction and held out one arm in an expansive gesture, encompassing the hallway behind him. “If that will be all, Avatar Aang, you and your companion will be escorted to a room.” The captain that had brought the trio up from the harbor peeled himself away from his lounging post by the wall at the words, ready to fulfill the order.

Aang nodded and hastily returned his bow, gratitude painting his face at the thought. “Thank you very much for your hospitality, Chief…?”

“Arnook,” he supplied quickly, inclining his head with respect. “Again, an honor, Avatar.” He looked the captain in the eye and nodded slightly, and the pair followed his steps away, Katara bowing in his direction with a smile as she left.

Arnook didn’t bother to watch them go, turning back to his room and slipping inside once more, returning to comfort of his heavy furs and blankets, despite the emptiness of his bed. Even after seeing the familiar, teasing exchanges of the teenagers, a budding romance and rough sibling affection that would have cheered him on another evening, Arnook couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that settled in to sleep beside him.

The balance of the war, and the fate of the world itself, rested on the shoulders of a single, awkward young monk. A boy who looked no older than 13, maybe younger. Mere _rumors_ struck fear in his heart, this simple airbender who hadn’t even learned waterbending.

Troubled times, indeed.  

* * *

Iroh made his way to Zuko’s cabin, carefully cradling a steaming cup of tea in each hand. The Marines danced out of his way in the ship’s narrow hallways, careful not to spill any of the precious liquid, and Iroh threw them grateful grins as they passed. It had been eight days since Zuko’s ill-conceived escapade into the storm, and the sleepless night for Iroh that had followed when the Prince didn’t return to his room. Zuko had refused to tell where he had spent the evening, but Iroh had seen how he and Zhao were both tense around each other and valiantly hiding it, like two crow-cats peacefully biding their time until the best moment for a territorial strike rolled their way. He was willing to bet it wasn’t at a nice brothel in town, at least.

To make matters worse, neither had been overjoyed when _Azuma_ had taken three days to repair, and the party had lost hope of reaching the North Pole before the Avatar – what hope they had originally held out, at least. Knowing they had lost their chance, Zhao had decided to contact the capital and ask for a siege force strong enough to break the Northern citadel. Iroh could only assume that the rash Commander had heeded his advice not to mention Zuko, or the Avatar at all; Zhao was an ambitious man, after all. He wouldn’t want any petty anger or competition getting in the way of his heroic success.

Besides, Zhao considered Zuko to be a valuable tool – a tool nonetheless, but with purpose enough to tolerate his presence. From what he had been told, Zuko was the only one who knew of the secret passage into the city, information that he had gathered on a reconnaissance mission years back, and which would be necessary to successfully kidnap the Avatar from underneath the Waterbender’s distracted noses. Zhao wouldn’t gamble with such a pawn’s fate in Fire Nation waters. And with the Prince far away in the North, it would be the easiest stage Zhao would ever be set to humiliate and have him removed all without the blame falling on his own head.

Or course, Iroh and Zuko had their own ideas on the matter – ideas that needed further settling, especially as they approached the Fire Nation border, closer each day to freedom.

Reaching Zuko’s door, Iroh tapped it with his foot, hoping to knock loudly enough to wake the sleeping Prince – only for the metal slab to swing open on impact. Iroh’s buzzing thoughts immediately stilled, muscles relaxing and stance widening with the unconscious practice of a seasoned veteran. Zuko always closed his door at night, and if he had been awake before sunrise on this winter morning, he would have come to Iroh earlier.

“Zuko?” Iroh called, cautiously nudging the door open farther. “Prince Zuko, are you-”

His eyes fell on the torn, blood-stained cot, the slightly open chest at the foot of his bed, the Fire Nation tapestry with a dark scorch-mark blasted through the fragile silk. The tea fell from numb fingers to shatter and splash on the metal floor. A Marine rushed from an adjacent room to Iroh’s side at the sound, with a worried, “General, is something wrong?” A moment passed, but Iroh couldn’t turn his gaze away from the scene, couldn’t say a word, and the Marine was already off and running, sprinting up the steps and yelling, “Raise the alarm! Search for the Prince! The Prince is missing and assumed injured! Captain Jee, Prince Zuko is hurt!”

Iroh shakily stepped into the room, gold eyes darting about for answers.

He knew Zuko. The boy had fought off more assassins than Ozai had as a youth, though fewer than either he or Lu Ten had dealt with. He was more than practiced in the art of surprised self-defense. This couldn’t have been a common attacker, who could sneak through the depths of _Azuma_ , knowing precisely where his chambers were, and succeed at drawing Zuko’s blood. And Iroh was certain it was his nephew’s blood, and not his foe’s; Zuko would have attacked with firebending, which didn’t draw blood enough to account for those reckless stains. His thoughts churned over again, reconsidering; it was possible, if Zuko had managed to subdue the invader with bending until he could attack with the dao swords-

The dao swords. Zuko always hung the swords on the wall to give them the appearance of decoration, yet their holders were empty. The only thing hanging on the wall was the torn, destroyed symbol of their nation, hanging on a singed wooden bar. Eyes narrowing, Iroh stepped up to the foot locker and pulled the lid open the rest of the way, shifting the dark clothes aside in search of the “hidden” blue mask that had accompanied the “antique” swords.

True to his suspicions, it was nowhere to be found – but in its place at the bottom of the chest lay a small, folded piece of parchment. Iroh spared a moment to be exasperated as he scooped it up and carefully replaced Zuko’s clothes, returning the chest to its ajar position. The boy had a lot to learn about discretion and secrecy, that much was certain. Unfolding the sheet, Iroh was presented with a single, quickly-scrawled word, written in a dark red-brown to match the cot’s stains. Iroh read it three times, blinking in between as his mind caught up to the implications.

He stood swiftly, and with concentrated fury alone, the paper burst into white flames and its ashes combusted further, leaving no trace of the note. The General strode from the room, barely remembering to look destroyed and anguished as he passed through the ship’s dark belly. He had other things on his mind than mourning his nephew – specifically, avenging him.

* * *

“It makes sense, now,” Iroh spoke up from the door, reveling in the boy’s flinch. Izo turned to him, and to his credit, didn’t try to save face. His usually bright yellow eyes were dulled, red at the edges, underscored by dark circles and the old remnants of tears. He looked broken, anguished, empty. “The spy at Esa, who couldn’t have escaped the notice of our officers. Zhao’s uncommon knowledge of our whereabouts. Your altercation with the Prince when the Air Temples were searched. Tell me, Izo, who have you sold your loyalties to?”

“I didn’t sell them,” the Helmsman replied dully. He looked at his hands quietly before rolling up a painted parchment that sat on his cot. “I was forced into spying for Azula, originally. It’s been a long time since I could even stand to do it, though.”

Iroh watched him, picking up the slightest of lies from the way the boy moved, the way he breathed. “Claiming to be forced into something is a tricky thing,” Iroh said, moving into the room and shutting the door behind him. “There’s really nothing another person can force you into, if you’ve made up your mind. And if you haven’t, than nearly any incentive is enough for your hand to be ‘forced’. Good men are often corrupted by such things as money and power, Izo; I’ve seen it enough with my own eyes.” Iroh let the sentence linger as familiar faces flashed in his mind’s eye, ending with a young, smiling, innocent Ozai. He hurried on before his nostalgia could ensnare him, crossing his arms as he asked, “Do you think their corruption is forced upon them by their prizes?”

“Don’t speak philosophy with me, sir, I’m in no mood,” Izo responded bitterly, not sparing him a glance.

Iroh sighed, steadfastly ignoring the boiling wrath that was bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “You’re right, I suppose. Whether or not you _were_ forced into the murderous, traitorous business you’ve worked in is a moot point. What really matters is where Zuko has gone, and what you have done with him.”

Izo drew in a sharp breath, bracing himself against the side of his cot and closing his eyes. Iroh didn’t twitch, waiting patiently for the only answer he cared about. Finally, breathless, lost and pained, Izo muttered, “I don’t know. I don’t know where he’s gone, or what he’s planning. He told me to tell Zhao that he’s dead. I told him. I’ve been released from duties by three officers now.” He turned a baleful eye on Iroh, adding, “Four, if you’ve come to do the same, but you’re a little late. I’ve already turned in my resignation form to Captain Jee, mentioning some ‘urgent family emergency’.” Izo let out a long stream of air, running his hands down his face, and collapsed weakly onto his cot with his hands in his lap.

Iroh watched him for a second, then crossed the room in a few quick strides, pressing the fingertips of one hand on the boy’s forehead, the other splayed across his chest.

Iroh was taken aback by the image that confronted him. Izo sat alone in the darkness, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around them, head supported on his legs, shoulders shaking with tears. Iroh approached the figure slowly, his footsteps utterly silent in the eerie, empty black plain, and laid a hand on one of his shoulders. “You didn’t want this,” he said with surety, though it was meant to be a question.

Izo’s soul shook his head without a word. Iroh tightened his grip.

_Use all your tools prudently; even bent ones can be beaten into shape again._

“Would you do anything to make it up the Prince? Anything to regain his trust?” He sounded fervent, but it was the passionate edge that held the younger soldiers’ interest, always had. “Do you refuse to ever serve Zhao or the Princess, as long as he lives to precede them?”

Iroh held his breath. In the grander scheme of his plan, it wasn’t a great matter that hinged on the boy’s response – but it was the difference between life and death. A life in service to the Prince he loved, or an unmourned, unrecorded death by the Uncle of the man he had betrayed.

Izo turned bright yellow eyes up to him, glinting with hope. It was as enough for a man as trained in expressions as the Common Tongue. He smiled grimly and pulled the boy to his feet, clasping his arm with a nod, and leaving quickly. Izo crumpled against the cot as Iroh pulled his hands and mind away, but the General gently smacked him out of his shocked state. His voice was low and urgent, another register with had proven effective with such men on numerous occasions. “You will leave your post, as you told Captain Jee, and wait for me at Akira, two ports North from here, at an inn known as The Laughing Dog. Do not speak to any Fire Nation soldiers except on the mundane; do not have any contacts with Zhao or Azula.” Brilliant, scorching gold eyes met the red-rimmed yellow of a much younger, much more fragile man. “Do I make myself utterly clear?”

Izo sat up, rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand in a weak gesture, but when he met Iroh’s gaze, there was a flinty edge to his stare and hard angle to his jaw that hadn’t been there before. “I would walk through Agni’s lair itself for the Prince,” Izo swore solemnly, holding Iroh’s eyes. He got to his feet carefully, taking the rolled parchment in one hand and a small bundle of dark clothes in the other. He nodded soberly to Iroh and bowed deeply. “I will do exactly as you say, General, sir.”

Iroh leaned back, crossing his arms in his sleeves. “See to it, Helmsman,” he approved, bowing his head slightly. He made an unhappy face, realizing just what these events would require ii in the way of a proper resolution. “In the meantime, I mourn the death of my dear nephew… and fix up your horrendous mess,” he added, not quite refraining from a scowl. Sweeping from the room, he pulled a wide frown, absently wondered if he still had it in him to cry at will. It would be necessary, he decided, for the funeral.   


End file.
